Two Faces
by Scruffy-looking
Summary: What if Batman saved Rachel instead of Harvey? Be careful what you wish for! A Dark Knight AU
1. Chapter 1

**Two Faces**_  
_A Dark Knight AU

___Disclaimer: all intellectual property rights to the Batman franchise belong to their prospective owners, and the use of the Batman characters and ideas in this story are for non-commercial purposes only._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Lieutenant—_correction, Commissioner—_Jim Gordon raced to the door. _Avenue X at Cicero, 250 52__nd__ Street… Avenue X at Cicero, 250 52__nd__ Street…_ he said over and over to himself.

As he turned the corner the door to the interrogation room flew open, and the Batman strode out. "Which one are you going after?" Gordon urgently asked.

The Batman slammed the door shut behind him, but did not answer, did not move. Gordon's heart began to race. "Well?"

There was an agonizing moment of silence, then: "Dent," the dark figure said brusquely, running past him.

Gordon also began running for the exit. "We're getting Dawes," he yelled; behind him, other officers from MCU started to follow him. Outside, vehicles roared to life and took off into the night. "Avenue X at Cicero!" Gordon yelled over and over as he got into his car, started the engine and sped away.

_I just hope we can make it in time…_

* * *

Batman—Bruce Wayne—was betting his past, his future, his very sanity and soul, on his readings of a madman. Everything—_everything!_—hung on his calculation, his bet, that the Joker was lying. _And if he wasn't…_

Cars and buildings flew past him as he ratcheted the Pod up past one hundred and fifty miles per hour. Wind ripped at his face, tiny pebbles stinging his cheeks, but they were nothing. The city around him, the darkness, even the Pod and his very body—all nothing. Bruce Wayne—Batman—was in a state beyond himself, a true out-of-body experience; in his eyes, he saw himself, detached, racing through the night. It was something he had never achieved, no matter how much he had meditated on that distant cold mountaintop in another life.

It was a good thing he was able to—it was the only thing keeping the fear at bay.

…_If he wasn't, Rachel_ _dies._ Even as the word formed soundlessly on his parched lips, the dreaded cold surrounded him from all sides, threatening to overwhelm him in madness and panic.

From deep within, Chance was mocking him:

…_fifty-fifty…_  
…_heads or tails…_  
…_win or lose…_  
…_live or die…_

Batman's immediate instinct had been to go where the Joker had said she was at, 250 52nd. But as soon as he closed the door behind him, doubt filled him. _What if I'm wrong? What if I'm _WRONG_?_

Normally once he committed to an action he would not rethink it; to date, his instincts had worked most of the time. But images of Rachel had filled his mind the moment the Joker said she was in danger, clouding his mind. _Gentle smiles from long ago… impassioned looks from yesterday. _They were source of not so much joy, but a desperate longing for something he wasn't sure still existed. It was his fault—_No! Yes!_—Rachel was now in mortal peril.

_Where do I go?_

In that infinite moment, he had paused, doubting himself. That hesitation opened the floodgates.

Instantly he was paralyzed by indecision, becoming so afraid of making the wrong decision that he almost broke down, almost lost control completely. His mind collapsing in on itself, flooded with mindless thoughts of terror, Alfred's words suddenly popped in his head: _Perhaps this is a man you don't understand…_

At that moment he had a flash, beyond logic, beyond calculation. He abandoned his modus operandi; Batman changed his mind.

Now he was but a few minutes from salvation or damnation. The chill of fear pressed ever harder on him. Bruce—Batman—forced himself to logic and reason, cold and unfeeling, clear and unbiased. _You made the right choice,_ he thought over and over. _Maybe he's lying altogether—neither of them might be there._ _In that case…_

Batman didn't dwell on that. He thought on: _If he's telling the truth that they're at those locations, then Rachel is at 250 52__nd__ and Dent's at Avenue X, or vice-versa. _

Under the relentless force of logic, his fear began to recede. _He wanted to kill Dent, but he figured out I care about Rachel. _Once again he chided himself for that weakness. _He didn't want to kill me—he wanted to _convert_ me!_ The thought was still nauseating. _What better way to make me lose it completely, than by getting my hopes up to rescue Rachel—only she's not there? So instead he tells me where Dent actually is._ He could see it in his mind: the Joker sitting in his cell, laughing over and over at the sight of him stupidly coming to the rescue not of his love, but of Harvey. _Ha ha ha…_

"Well, the joke's on him," Batman growled. Turning on to the corner of 2nd Avenue and 52nd Street, there was a large deserted warehouse in the middle of the street: 250 52nd Street. He lept from the Pod and ran as fast as he could to the entrance, savagely kicking it down. He ran into the basement.

Every possible emotion seemed to flow uncontrollably now: fear, rage, panic, more fear. Batman was gasping for air. He almost fell, but kept his balance. Down the corridor there was a set of large doors, with a faint light peeking out from the cracks.

_Please, let Rachel be there; let me save her, keep her safe, see her alive._ He was almost there.

As he began kicking at the doors it hit him like an avalanche: he had failed, the Joker had read him too well. Dent was here, and Rachel was going to die.

Batman screamed; a cry of pure despair. With a final kick the doors broke open. He heard an indistinct voice say: "—you."

Batman ran inside—it was too dark to immediately see. "Rachel!" he screamed. _Please…_

A terrified high voice cried out: "Bruce? Oh, God, no, not me!"

* * *

"—and my answer is yes!"

"Thank you, Rachel," Harvey Dent said softly. "I love you." Coughing as the foul stench of diesel fuel wafted up from beneath his left cheek, Dent stopped struggling; he laid still and tried to prepare himself for the end. There was no more than a minute left; if someone didn't come in the next 10-15 seconds…

For the first—and probably last—time in his life, he began to pray. _Dear God, please save Rachel, even if I have to die._ After doing it, it didn't seem to help. Dent closed his eyes, fighting back tears.

He heard something from the intercom: "Rachel!" It was not her voice; his head perked up.

"_Bruce?"_ That _was_ Rachel; her voice cracking with fear. Then she shrieked, all control lost: _"Oh, God, no, not me!"_

He strained to listen, but the voices and noises from the intercom rapidly became inaudible. Dent's mind raced. '_Bruce?' Wayne? How could he know where Rachel was?_ Before he could answer his question there was a loud bang; someone had kicked in the doors. Straining to turn his head, he saw two Gotham police officers race in. One of them yelled: "Miss Dawes?"

Dent yelled: "Over here!"

* * *

Heart burning with the fiercest joy he had ever known, Bruce ran to his beloved friend Rachel; she was tied up to a chair. Next to her there was a detonator with red numbers counting down: _29…28…_ Like an animal Batman acted on reflex; coming behind Rachel, he slashed at the thick ropes binding her with the blades on his gauntlets. Now freed, they headed towards the exit.

For some reason Rachel was having trouble running; Batman almost had to drag onwards. Her voice cracking with worry, she asked: "What about Harvey, who's helping him?"

"Gordon and his men. They—" In the darkness Batman had tripped over something; they tumbled into some barrels, which toppled over and splattered foul diesel fuel over both of them. Rachel coughed and gagged; Batman got back up, then helped her to her feet and continued towards the door. _Ten seconds left…_

"Why," Rachel wailed at his side, "why did you choose _me_?"

"I didn't," he said rapidly, "I went for Dent; the Joker switched addresses, I found you here instead." That was a lie, but no one would ever know that.

She was staring at him with desperate fear in her eyes. "Please, _please_ Bruce, tell me he'll make it!"

"He will. Don't worry, he will!" _Won't he?_

_7…  
6…_

* * *

The cops were spending too much time trying to cut him free—they should have just lifted him away instead. _Figures you can't trust a cop to do their job, even in the end,_ Dent thought contemptuously.

_Bruce Wayne… Batman… of course, now it makes sense. _His rage at the fumbling efforts of the men in blue was an insignificant spark compared to the fury he was feeling towards his erstwhile bride, and the figure he had just risked his life for. _All obvious in retrospect: he wanted to set me up, so he could retire and be with Rachel! _Bruce Wayne had made a fool of him, and nothing made him madder than that.

_Nothing, that is, except being betrayed by a woman. _As the two cops finally abandoned trying to loosen his bonds and dragged him away, terrible thoughts cycled through his mind, becoming darker and uglier. _Since we're going to die, why not tell him sweet lies? _But now he knew better. _A chick's gotta cover all options. Keep one foot in the door for an up and coming DA, but never throw away a billionaire ace in the hole!_ '_Bruce's penthouse is the safest place in Gotham City,' she said. Even safer when good ol' Bruce is on top of you for protection!_

Terrible images of Wayne and Rachel entwined, their bodies thrashing about, swam through his mind; he barely kept himself from screaming. Looking up at the Keystone Kops, he silently prayed again: _Hey Big Guy, my mistake. Please, take Bruce and Rachel both home to Jesus real soon!_ He inexplicably began laughing. _With any luck, their suffering would just be beginning…_

_5…  
4…_

* * *

"We're almost there!" The doors leading out were just ahead.

"Thank you, thank you so much," Rachel said over and over, her voice simultaneously fierce and tender. "Oh Bruce, if we're going to die—"

"—Don't think like that," Batman snapped automatically, mistakenly thinking she was giving in to fate. "We're going to make it. Dent's going to make it."

_3…_

"He's going to make it!" Batman shouted again, as much to convince himself as to assuage Rachel.

_2…_

_…__If I make it, I'll kill them both—_

_1…_

—A terrible explosion roared behind him. Harvey Dent smiled as he was engulfed by the flames.

* * *

Rachel shouted back: "I know he is, it's just—"

**0.**

—Behind them the warehouse exploded, lighting up the night with ghastly orange light. The blast knocked both of them down, and fiery debris rained all around. As soon as he hit the ground, Batman heard screaming—_Rachel! _He got to his feet, and to his utter horror she had become a burning torch, shrieking and jerking madly. Panicking, he raced over and roughly threw her to the ground. The whole left side of her was on fire, even her face. He slapped at her face with his hands, frantically trying to put out the flames. Then he ripped off her burning blouse.

Rachel was screaming, an unending series of wordless shrieks. Batman's hands were trembling; he tried to restrain her from clawing at her face and doing more damage. Seconds later, she finally stopped burning; a nauseating wisp of smoke rose from her ruined face, her flesh still sizzling like burgers on a grill—he was almost sick, just barely holding it in. Her cries faded, and to his great alarm she was now unconscious.

_She's going into shock_—_if medical help doesn't arrive soon, she'll die!_ Frantically he took out a radio, dialed in the Gotham police frequency and yelled: "I've got Dawes, she's badly hurt, need an ambulance at 250 52nd Street NOW!" There was an acknowledgment; he turned his attention back to Rachel. Without a medical kit (his emergency one had been destroyed in the Tumbler), there was literally nothing he could do to help her. Batman looked down at her supine form. The right side of her was undamaged, almost completely normal, but the left side_—_

—He turned away as tears ran down his face. The darkness hid most of the damage, but the orange lights of the building burning behind them flickered, illuminating the charred, blackened skin. Trembling, Bruce removed the glove from his right hand and gently brushed her hair clear of the burnt part of her face. His fingers gently flicked across the smooth skin of her forehead; involuntarily, he jerked then away, filled with a fear that he was violating her space, somehow.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," he whispered. _Everything will be alright. We'll be together forever, and I'll never let anyone or anything hurt you again._ Leaning in, he said: "I love—"

—A blazing siren pierced the neighborhood. Immediately Batman got to his feet, wiping his eyes clean and putting his glove back on. Several police cars stopped in front of him, and an ambulance right behind them. A police officer came out and said: "Is Dent okay—"

"—The Joker lied, he switched addresses. I managed to save Miss Dawes instead," he said, gesturing to Rachel. The officer had a stunned look on his face, but said nothing.

"Did Gordon get Dent?" he asked, not wanting to know the answer.

"I don't know, I'll check." The officer went back into his car. Batman didn't wait for an answer, for the EMTs were racing towards him.

"Dawes is hurt; severe burns, shock."

"We'll take care of it," the EMT replied. He and his partner gently lifted Rachel onto a gurney, wheeling her back to the ambulance. "Radio Gotham General to get a burn trauma bed open," he said to the driver as he got into the back of the vehicle. Batman stood still, saying nothing as he watched the ambulance's lights come to life and speed away.

Firefighters had arrived on the scene and began working on putting out the fire at 250 52nd Street. Batman went to the other cop. "Any news?"

The cop grimaced. "Just talked to Gordon. You were right, Dent was there. He… he didn't make it."

It was like a hammer blow to his soul. Batman's head fell, his eyes tightly closed. _My God, I've lost almost everything. _Nearby the police cars began driving away. Batman's head snapped up; the police officer he was talking to was running back to his car.

"What's wrong?" _What else could go wrong?_

"The Joker's escaped, with Lau," the cop said tightly. "Bomb went off at MCU, don't know anything else, but they're gone."

Bruce's shock rapidly gave way to anger, greater than anything he could ever remember. _Dent dead, Rachel almost killed, the Joker free again!_

Batman went to the Batpod, mounted it, and savagely drove it away. _The next time I see him, I'm going to kill him._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Bruce Wayne gently opened the door to the hospital room and stepped inside.

Rachel lay still in her bed, white gauze covering the left side of her face. Bruce's heart raced as powerful waves of fear, anger, and grief filled him. He had to look away as his eyes became moist again. Suddenly the bouquet of flowers he was carrying seemed ridiculous, almost offensive. He briefly considered stepping out to toss them, when he heard her say: "Hello?"

Quickly composing himself, he closed the door behind him and came to her side. "Hi Rachel," he said with the softest tone of voice he could manage.

Her head lolled to the right, so that her bandaged face was visible. Rachel lifted her head fractionally, her right eye rolling up to look at him. "Bruce," she said, her voice somewhat slurred, her speech distorted by the fact that she could only move half her mouth. Bruce winced. _She must be drugged, because of the pain._

He bent down so he was eye-level with her. Bringing up the flowers to her, he said: "For you." Bruce hoped his smile didn't look too forced.

Rachel didn't respond at first, then the right corner of her mouth twitched up in a slight half-smile. "Thank you, that's sweet." Her voice was flat, and the smile quickly disappeared. She did roll her head back up, staring up to the ceiling and sighing.

Bruce put the flowers aside and pulled a chair up to her bedside. "Are you in any pain?" he asked, his voice now serious.

"Not physically," she said, raising her left arm; Bruce saw the IV line. "I have enough morphine to put myself away for five years on Illegal Possession Grade One." Her arm fell limply. Bruce almost laughed; as jokes go that was one of Rachel's better ones. Whatever levity he felt then died upon her next words: "Is Harvey okay?"

Bruce did not respond at first. "Bruce, if he's dead, just tell me. Please don't lie to me anymore."

Her voice was neutral, which made it all the more stinging. "The firemen found nothing but unidentifiable remains. Gordon just told the press as I was coming in. I'm sorry."

Now Rachel rolled her head to the left, so that her bandages were not visible. She stared blankly outwards, her mouth hanging open slightly. She looked alarmingly catatonic, as if she had gone into a coma.

"Rachel, I'm so—"

"—They told us only one of us would make it, that they would have to choose between us," she said. "You chose to save me." She stared at him, the line of her mouth perfectly flat, searchingly… _accusingly?_ It made him feel most uncomfortable.

"The Joker tried to trick us," Bruce responded. "He said you were at one place, Dent at another. I went to rescue Dent, and found you."

"I see." She closed her eye. Then it opened again. "But when you came in, you called out my name, I remember. You saw through his scheme, didn't you? When you were going for Harvey, you actually thought you would save me. Am I correct?" Again her voice was even in tone, yet somehow he felt like he was being given the third degree.

_She's not only brave, but really smart,_ Bruce reminded himself. There was no point in further trying to obfuscate. "Yes. But when the Joker told me where you both were, my first instinct was to go where he said you were. I gave it a second thought, and decided he might be lying, so instead I went where he said Dent was." Having confessed, he felt a little better, but Rachel's gaze made him uneasy again. "It was more a desperate gamble than clever deduction."

"I see," she said again. "So you were going to rescue me regardless."

"Dent knew the risks when we decided to act, him, me, and Gordon," Bruce said, his voice suddenly strong with conviction.

"Did he know the risk when you told him to pretend he was you?"

Bruce's response was immediate: "We didn't plan that. I told him I was going to turn myself in, he objected. The next day, when I was about to step forward, he said he was the Batman before I could do so. Then I realized what he was up to: he was going to use himself as bait for the Joker."

"Yet somehow the Joker managed to kidnap both of us."

To his dismay, Rachel's grilling was starting to anger him. Tightly Bruce said: "The mob must have men on the inside. I don't know who." He paused; Rachel looked away, not saying anything. Suddenly he remembered the worst part of the whole thing. Bracing himself, he said: "Rachel, the Joker managed to escape from MCU."

Her head snapped back to stare at him, a look of horror on her face. "So now you're finally telling me Harvey died for nothing?" Bruce did not respond. Rachel tightly shut her eye and turned away, her jaw tightly clenched as if she were trying to keep herself from screaming. He wanted to say something, but was certain it would come out wrong, so he refrained.

After a while she finally opened her eye. "How… _convenient_ for you, _Brucie_," she said in a sarcastic tone of voice, speaking slowly to emphasize each word. "I'm alive, Harvey's dead, and now we can have a normal life together just like you wanted."

Bruce was shocked by the accusation—and its implications. "That's not it! I mean, yes, I admit, I—care about you. I couldn't let him hurt you, even if it meant sacrificing Harvey. I hoped the police could get there in time, but they didn't. It happens. If I had decided otherwise, what then?"

"I'd be dead, and Harvey would be alive." This time her voice was not accusatory, but matter-of-fact. _Maybe it's good for her to ponder the significance of that._

His anger at her was dismaying; again he forced himself to remain silent. She was quiet for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was disarmingly gentle: "Bruce, I have to tell you something. I loved Harvey." Bruce did not react. "Just before you came in, I told him… that… I agreed to marry him. If we made it…" She winced; a tear rolled down her cheek.

To his great surprise, Bruce did not feel hurt by the statement. _A deathbed confession—why not, if you think you're going to die—_

"—Don't misunderstand me," she said, her voice heavy with unmistakable grief. "At the party, he had proposed to me, but I told him I couldn't make up my mind then." She stopped, her mouth quivering. Her head thrashed from side to side as she tried to stop it.

Bruce came up to her and gently stroked Rachel's hair; she did not pull away. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"No, Bruce, you don't understand; just ask Alfred, I told him. Just ask him—" She could no longer hold back; Rachel broke down completely and openly wept. He cradled her head against his chest, and with unexpected vehemence she grabbed his jacket with her right hand. There was nothing to say, nothing to do but just be there for her.

After her cries came to an end, Bruce released her. "I know why you rescued me instead of Harvey," she said in a hoarse voice. "I can't say you were wrong, but I can't say you were right." She paused, then looked straight into his eyes. "Bruce, I still… care for you, deeply, but you have to give me space. I need time to grieve for Harvey. And there's no guarantees."

Despite her words, his heart soared. "I understand."

"Get him," she said, her voice cold again, but this time Bruce was in full agreement with the sentiment. "Stop him, don't let him hurt anyone else, ruin any more lives. Promise me, Bruce. Promise me!"

"The Joker won't hurt anyone else, I swear it."

Rachel smiled a bit, then lay back and closed her eye. He quickly left.

* * *

Bruce sat in the back of his car, lost in thought, silent, as Alfred drove back to the apartment.

"Alfred, your story with the bandit, did you ever catch him?"

"Yes, sir," he responded immediately.

"How?"

"We burned the forest down."

_We had to destroy the village in order to save it. _"Did you burn him as well?"

"No, Master Wayne, but it was very chancy; a lot of civilians lost their property, some almost lost their lives. If I had to do it again, I'm not sure I would."

"That doesn't help." Before Alfred could respond, Bruce said, "No offense, Alfred, it's just that… to stop the Joker, I might have to do some burning myself."

"And what would that be, sir?" Bruce did not respond; his thoughts were locked onto a very secret room, where very secret (and very illegal) things were happening. _Do the ends justify the means?_ Never before had that dilemma been starker.

Alfred made a noncommittal noise, obviously taking the hint. He turned on the radio. "—Gotham officials have ordered a complete evacuation of all hospitals due to the Joker's threat."

"What?" Bruce snapped to attention. "Repeating the breaking news, the Joker has issued a threat to blow up a hospital if Coleman Reese, a Gotham attorney who claims to know the identity of the Batman, is not killed within the hour."

"Oh, crap," Bruce said. The facts quickly came back to him: Lucius had warned him than Reese had claimed to know that Bruce Wayne was the Batman. He had managed to subtly dissuade him, but there was no denying he was onto the secret, and something had to be done. With the Joker running loose, he had had no time to deal with it. Now, both problems had merged into a new and terrible one.

"Get us back to the hideaway ASAP," Bruce ordered. He began to think it through: _The Joker doesn't want my identity revealed… because he wants me around, to continue to 'play' his little games._ It became clear that putting people in a hopeless dilemma, where someone would have to make the awful choice of kill or be killed, was his _modus operandi_. _Something that he gets a kick out of_, he thought disgustedly.

"Why would anyone kill Mr. Reese just because this madman—" Alfred would not dignify calling the Joker by his nickname, "—threatens to blow up a hospital?"

"I was wondering myself—wait, of course, anyone with relatives in a hospital." _Fear, truly the most powerful impulse of all. _As they pulled up to the fence surrounding the underground lair, Bruce heard on the radio: "—Commissioner Gordon and several Gotham City police officers have just arrived at the station to take Mr. Reese into protective custody. There's a huge mob out here, I don't know if the police can keep them back—"

A terrible image came to mind: hundreds of ordinary citizens with loved ones in the hospital, people driven mad by the fear the Joker had spawned, desperately trying to kill a man in the forlorn hope that their loved ones would not be hurt—

—Bruce was hit by a thunderbolt. _Loved ones—RACHEL! _"Oh God, Alfred, what if this is another attempt on Rachel's life? She's at Gotham General, the Joker might be trying to kill her again!"

Alfred's face drained of color. "Let's go back to the hospital," Bruce said, "we have to protect her—"

"—Master Wayne, that may not be a good idea," Alfred interrupted.

"What do you mean? We have to go back!" Bruce said, anger—panic?—flooding him.

"Sir, he already suspects your alter ego is unusually involved with Miss Dawes. What if he sees you there, hovering over Rachel? Mister Reese would be the least of our problems."

The truth of what Alfred said froze Bruce with horror. _If I go back, I endanger everyone—Alfred, Lucius. But if I don't go back, Rachel may be attacked. _But he wasn't completely convinced: "You're right, Alfred, but the police will protect Mr. Reese. We have to—" Again he stopped, as yet another horrible thought occurred to him. "Alfred, we need to find out if any Gotham police officers have relatives in hospitals."

Alfred was horrified. "Surely a policeman would not commit murder—"

"—Alfred, this is Gotham City," Bruce muttered. "The police sold Dent and Rachel out. What do you think?" Alfred did not respond. "Right, you go and look up the information, then send it to Gordon. I'm going back to Gotham General to look out after Rachel—in costume, so you need not worry."

"What of Mister Reese, sir?"

Bruce froze. _Can Gordon and his men protect Reese? Especially if some of his cops decide to take matters in his own hands? _Given how bent so many in the force were, he had serious doubts. But protecting Rachel was the most important thing. _The only thing that mattered now,_ he would admit to himself and to no one else.

"Gordon can deal with them." _I hope. _"You just get the information to them. Let's go." The two men raced inside.

* * *

Rachel Dawes awoke to pain.

It was searing, agonizing—she was burning again! She managed to stifle a scream. Clumsily, she slammed on the intercom button to call for a nurse. It didn't light up. Sweating, she gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pain.

"Good afternoon, my dear."

Rachel suddenly realized there was someone else in the room. It was a red-haired nurse wearing a facemask. Behind it, her face was pasty white; it looked like she had placed the mask over a facial. She said quickly: "Nurse, my pain medication isn't working—"

"—I know, I cut it off for your own good." She tugged at her hair; it came off, like a wig, revealing strands of scraggly blond-green underneath. "Take it from me—" she removed her facemask, her voice suddenly husky "—it's good scratch dealing it, but never get hooked on the junk."

The Joker was standing there, dressed absurdly in a nurse's outfit, grinning at her. Rachel screamed.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Miss Dawes," he said pleasantly. As he approached her, Rachel desperately thrashed about, trying to get out of bed. She couldn't; she was restrained. "Don't worry, I'm not going to harm you—not too much, anyway!"

She jerked violently away as he stroked her right chin. "Let's see how you're doing." He ripped off her bandages; Rachel cried out in pain. He was beaming: "Wonderful! I love your new look!" He grabbed a pocket mirror and held it before her face.

She almost vomited at the sight of herself: her right side was unblemished, but the left side of her face was a shredded, blackened horror. Her eyelid had been removed, so a naked eyeball, terrifyingly white, stared back at her. Most of her cheek was gone, as was the lips; her teeth were showing, all the way to the gums.

"It's like a makeover from hell," the Joker said admiringly. He pulled up a chair and sat on her left side. "We need to talk."

Rachel spat at him and turned away. Shrugging, he grabbed what was left of her hair and tugged; painfully her head was jerked to the left side. "It's not polite to look way when conversing with someone else," he said reproachfully, wagging a finger. He had pulled out a revolver, idly holding it with his left hand. He released her; she kept her head where it was.

"We don't have much time, so I came here because I wanted to clear things up between us." He licked his lips.

"Go ahead and kill me, I don't care anymore." She hoped it sounded like she meant it.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone always say that to me?" He shook his head, then giggled. "Oh, right, uh, never mind that. The point is, it wasn't personal with Harvey Dent, it was strictly business. You can't hate somebody for trying to make a living, times are tough all over as you know. Besides, I didn't actually kill him, the Batman did!"

Her fury became as great as her pain. "Harvey died because you left them no choice but for one of us to die," Rachel said with all the hatred she could muster.

"Exactly, the Batman chose to save Harvey Dent, and as a result he died. Sounds like murder to me!" The Joker went on: "Actually, I think things worked out for the best, don't you? After all, you're alive, and now you and the Bat can be together. Isn't that swell?"

Rachel was horrified and disgusted at his words, for the right and wrong reasons. The pain from the ruined part of her face was such that she could hardly concentrate, but somehow she found the strength to marshal her thoughts. "There's nothing going on between us." Rachel knew otherwise, but would never admit it to this creature, not even at the cost of her own life.

The Joker smiled, a hideous double-grin. "You can lie better than that, dear. I know the Caped Cuckholder has a thing for you." He rubbed his own cheeks, grimacing. "He gave me a workover, but I hit him where he lived. No guy loses it over a chick like that unless the feeling's mutual. It's why I always say: women, if you can't live with them, you can always kill them." Rachel almost spat at him again, but the gun waving about in his hand deterred her.

He approached her. "You're so pretty, so prim and proper. That's good for girls, but not guys. Dent was just a pretty boy, anyway. You really think he would keep you around 'forever'?" He said the last word with a mock-dreamy tone. "No, like all men, he's a pig, and the best you could hope from him was to have a nice little two-story house in BoringTown, USA, with a couple of brats to show off to the press. While he climbs the ladder of power, who knows how many other chicks he'd have climbed along the way, just to forget about coming back to you, when you're no longer so pretty." He gestured like he was cradling a baby, swinging his arms madly back and forth. "After bearing his spawn, he'd have dumped you in no time flat for the newest cookie-cutter blond out of Hollywood, or someone with real money and connections. Remember, they never show the first wife at political rallies."

The Joker was leering at her like nothing she had ever seen or experienced. "No, far better to embrace the bad boys from the start! A guy like Batman, for example, a man after my own heart—sure, he's not exactly Mister Dad-material, but you know he'll give you a good time when you want it, when you need it. Let me guess, he's fugly under that mask, right? No problem, while he's doin' his thang he wears the mask—or maybe the whole costume, eh?" He laughed. "I guess it _is_ a shame Dent's dead, because then you could have had two for the price of one. Ah, no matter, Harvey Dents are dime a dozen, trust me. The next one you find—let's call him Harvey Two—he'll probably be a sick freak like me, only with better makeup. Betcha Harvey Two would get off on seeing you and the Batman—in costume, of course. Or even better: Harvey Two might be willing to dress up too, and then you could be the meat in a BatSandwich! HA! HAHAHAHAHA!"

As much as she tried to stall for time until Bruce could get here, she could no longer take his verbal violations. "When you killed Harvey Dent, you didn't just slay Gotham's District Attorney, you murdered my fiancée, my only hope for a family. Only a delusional nut who dresses like a clown and mutilates himself could think there's something between me and Batman." Rachel fully expected to die in the next ten seconds; it no longer mattered to her.

The Joker pulled back and began scratching his chin, a puzzled look on his face. Rachel was trying to process his reaction when suddenly he hurled himself at her. Inches form her face, close enough for her to see every bump and scar on his face, his yellowed teeth, tongue flicking like a snake with spittle hitting her. Lasciviously he said: "Well, then, how about a little you and me?"

Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eye, trying to prepare herself for a fate worse than death, then death itself. But the Joker stepped away. "You're sending out mixed signals, Rachel," he sniffed. "Batman and I, we're peas in a pod. Why won't you give me a chance?" He was pouting.

Rachel tried not to say anything, but couldn't restrain herself: "Batman and you are day and night. You have nothing in common with him."

"No, no, no, no, Batman and I are two sides of the same coin." The Joker pirouetted in place for emphasis. "The only difference is he hasn't taken the final step. Once he realizes the only way to get what you want in this world is to do whatever the hell you feel like, and not give a damn otherwise, he'll be _free_. He'll be happy! Then we can _really_ play!"

Rachel thought she saw a chink in his armor. "Batman is about justice. All you care about is your own gratification. Who was it that screwed you over so badly to make you the freak you are? Maybe you should learn to let go."

The Joker frowned, an incongruous look considering his painted scar-smile. Then he suddenly laughed. "Justice? _JUSTICE?_ My God, that's a terrible joke! Now, I'm no fancy-pants lawyer like you or Harvey, but, uh, isn't Batman, like, breaking the law being a vigilante, spying on and beating up people—hell, kidnapping them from other countries! Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" There was look of mock outrage of him. "And like, aren't you his accomplices, 'cause you know about it but don't try to stop him? Doesn't that make you—like—_criminals_?" He cackled with mad glee.

The Joker leaned in closer. "Believe it or not, Rachel, I believe in the truth," he said unnervingly softly. "I show people the truth. And the truth is, deep down, Batman is all about revenge. Like you. Like everyone else when the chips are on the table. You let the Batman play because you know you can't get what you want playing by someone else's rules. Which is no surprise; only losers play by someone else's rules. If you want to be a winner, you either make the rules, or break them."

Rachel hoped it was the pain that was scrambling her thoughts, because what he said was starting to make an alarming bit of sense. She responded forcefully: "I'm sorry you think that way."

The Joker nodded. 'Well, no one ever said it was easy being right. The Batman, bless his black heart, didn't learn the lesson. So maybe you'll be a better student." He took out his revolver; Rachel flinched. Smiling, the Joker flipped it around and placed the handle in her right hand. Shocked, she involuntarily grabbed it. He put both of his hands over hers, forcing her to put a finger on the trigger. Then he raised the gun up and placed his head against the barrel.

"Time to see whose rules win—yours or mine." He grinned like the devil. "I killed that fat slob pretending to be Batman myself—carved him a nice new smile, yes I did. Blew up Judge Surillo, sent Commissioner Loeb to hell. More pigs than I can count—six, no, better make that an even dozen. I turned your star witness Lau into roasted Chinese pork—mmm!—on a pile of his own money. Who else, who else," he mumbled, "ah yes, a bunch of my associates, no need to bother you with those details. And for the grand finale, I killed Harvey Dent—twice! First Harvey/Dent, then Harvey Dent, who, as you said, was your fiancée and family."

Rachel was numbed by his litany of carnage. "I offer you the most precious gift in the world: revenge. All you have to do is squeeze that little finger of yours, and you'll do what the Batman couldn't, what Dent couldn't, what Gordon and the whole mob couldn't. You'll be a hero, you'll have your revenge, and all for the low low price of breaking one little rule that never made sense in the first place." He pulled back his hands, holding them above his head.

She said nothing. "Just to let you know, if you don't pull that trigger, I'm walking out of here, and a whole bunch of innocent people are going to be very sorry. When you go to their funerals, their loved ones are not going to like hearing why you didn't take the chance. Remember, I'm a man of my word." His voice was terrifyingly conversational; who could doubt he would carry out his threat?

Her index finger twitched slightly. The Joker saw it, but did not react in the slightest. He continued to smile. "If I pull this trigger," Rachel said, "it will be for justice, not revenge." Suddenly she felt dirty; it was the wrong thing to say anything, to even attempt to argue with the Devil himself.

The Joker was smiling from ear to ear. "You're getting there. In case you forgot, revenge is _so_ much better than justice! Like they say, 'It's about crushing your enemies, seeing them driven before you, and hearing the lamentations of their women'. I speak from personal experience." He paused. "Justice is revenge by someone else's rules, not all that satisfying. Revenge is justice by _your_ rules. _Much_ better!" He said those words in a dreamy, almost reverential tone of voice.

Off in the distance, Rachel heard the faint whine of a siren. The Joker said: "Now or never, Rachel. You can be either the heroine or the villainess, it's your choice."

Rachel stared at the Joker. Her finger twitched again, ever so slightly pressing on the trigger. Again the Joker showed absolutely no sign of fear, instead smiling and humming the countdown music to _Jeopardy._ Her face curled into a rictus of hate, caused as much by the terrible pain as her righteous anger at all the crimes the Joker had committed. _All I have to do is be a murderer, and it all ends._

Then she looked once more into the monster's eyes. _No, not a monster—a person. Disgusting, perverted, sociopathic, maybe even just plain _evil… _but still, in the end, a _person_._

Her arm trembled, then she released the pistol, which landed with a soft thud in front of her. Finally at peace, despite the pain, she said wearily: "Play your little games with someone else."

The Joker slapped his hand against his forehead, shaking his head and looking at her with exasperation. "All right, we'll have to do this the hard way." He picked up the pistol, then went behind her, unlocking the bed. He lifted it up and began wheeling it away, out the room and down the corridors, which were completely empty.

"Now what?" she asked, trying to sound bored, which she wasn't, and not frightened, which she was.

"Well, it's the bottom of the ninth inning. First the Batman struck out, then you. Time for the citizens of Gotham to step up to the plate." He paused to look at her, smiling. "And you'll be the pitcher."

Rachel was completely baffled by his words, so she said nothing in response. They passed by the visitor's lounge, where a television was blaring: "—but still, no sign yet that the Joker has carried out his threat against a hospital."

"What are they talking about?"

"Oh yeah," the Joker said as they passed out the front doors. "I phoned in and threatened to blow up a hospital unless the people of Gotham killed this man who knew Batman's identity." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. "Sounds like the people of Gotham did what I wanted. But I'm not finished playing with the Batman just yet."

Rachel was horrified. "Don't—"

_**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! **_"Too late, I just did." The Joker pushed her bed with greater urgency, as the walls of Gotham General Hospital blew out, spewing flaming debris all around them.

"But why—"

"—blow up the hospital if they did what I want? Because everyone now plays by my rules," the Joker said simply. "And _my_ rules are _no_ rules." Rachel was too stunned to reply. She could only hope that everyone had been evacuated before the Joker destroyed the hospital.

They were heading towards a school bus; to the side she could see the massive pile of smoldering rubble that had once been Gotham General. Someone helped lift the bed inside, and the bus sped away. As it did so, the Joker took out his pistol and fired into the roof of the bus—everyone but Rachel screamed. She did not cry out because she was more afraid than she ever imagined.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Joker said, "there's been a change of plan."

* * *

Batman arrived to see the last bits of Gotham General Hospital explode and collapse. "NO!"

He raced over to a policeman who had been crouching behind his squad car. He screamed: "Where's Rachel Dawes?"

The policeman continued to have a stunned look on his face as he stared at the wreckage, but rapidly recovered. "I believe we wheeled her out a while ago to one of the buses."

"Where did the bus go?"

"I'm not sure—I think intensive care patients were sent to St. Mary's Sacred Heart in the Marina District, I believe."

Batman looked around. There were mostly emergency personnel about, many of them still shocked into paralysis by the destruction of the hospital. He did not see any patients around, which brought a small amount of relief.

That relief instantly turned to panicked rage when he arrived at St. Mary's and found Rachel—along with a whole bus of doctors, nurses, and patients—was missing. Cursing at the Joker was so meaningless compared to the harm he had done and might do, he didn't even bother. "Gordon," he said tersely into his communications device. There was no response. After several tries, he gave up and headed back to Alfred.

"Alfred, I can't get in touch with Gordon, do you have any information?"

"One moment," Alfred replied. "Alright, apparently not long ago the police vehicle escorting Mr. Reese downtown was attacked by several civilian vehicles."

Batman's heart sank. "What happened?"

"Just a second." There was a pause. "I'm watching the reports from the media. Apparently one of the police officers tried to shoot Reese, but was stopped. I relayed to the Commissioner the names of several officers who had family in hospitals. Perhaps they were able to timely act on the information." Another pause. "Unfortunately… the vehicle was then rammed by the civilians… Mister Reese is… hold on… okay, he's now being reported as 'dead at the scene'… and the Commissioner is being taken to a hospital for critical injuries. I'm sorry, sir."

Batman was beyond outrage—by this point, the horrors had made him almost numb to everything. "Understood," he said in a weary, almost defeated tone. "I'm coming back now." Fighting back fear for Rachel's safety, he tried to muster energy for the battles to come.

He just didn't know if there was anything left to draw on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Bruce Wayne and Alfred watched the TV in silent dismay.

"You killed the lawyer, good for you Gotham," Rachel said in a flat unemotional tone of voice. "Welcome to my city, welcome to a world without rules." Above her was a handwritten sign saying, 'PRESS CONFERENCE: GOTHAM'S ACTING DA'. She was sitting in a chair, tied up, a burlap sack with eyeholes cut out covering her head. Off-screen, the Joker was chuckling appreciatively.

Rachel continued: "The game begins tonight. Those of you who don't want to play it my way, get out now. But don't take the bridges and tunnels, or you're in for a nasty surprise. Ha, ha, ha," she said mirthlessly. The Joker was laughing even louder now. The last thing on the screen was Rachel, slumping over, from exhaustion or defeat, they couldn't tell.

Bruce Wayne turned the TV off, silent in thought. "At least she's still alive," Alfred said softly.

"It's a threat, it's a threat… and a trap," Bruce Wayne said, more to himself than to Alfred.

He got up, pacing. "Rachel and the other people from the hospital, a hostage situation," he watched him carefully. "Do you have a plan, sir?"

He kept pacing. "I do." He did not elaborate.

Alfred got up. "Tell me what I need to do, Master Wayne."

He stopped pacing. Hesitating, he began: "You know how much I care about Rachel."

"Of course, sir."

"The Joker knows, too," Bruce Wayne said darkly. "He tried to use that against me, and if I hadn't have changed my mind at the last second, Rachel would be dead now." He paused. "He's got her, and he's going to use her again, I know it. Make me choose between her and others, hostages…" His voice trailed away, but the dilemma consuming him was clear: _in that scenario, what should I do?_

It was an agonizing thought: choose to save Rachel, or some hostages—perhaps many of them. Alfred carefully considered his next words: "If this monster puts you in a situation where someone will die no matter what happens, then that is on his black soul. Do not take the burden of his villainy upon yourself, sir."

Bruce looked back at him, an unreadable expression on his face, but Alfred could imagine what he was thinking: _But… _

Alfred continued: "But if it's a choice between Rachel, and many hostages…" He stopped, the pain of what he was trying to stay burning within, but he forced himself to go on: "…Batman must save as many lives as possible."

"In other words, sacrifice Rachel," Bruce said evenly.

Finding strength within, Alfred said: "Master Wayne, you and I both know what Rachel herself would say."

"I do." A pause. "I remember you said that Batman must be about more than revenge."

"Quite so."

Bruce closed his eyes. "Objectively, I should have saved Dent. Only he could have put an end to the mob through the law. Rachel was… expendable. But I chose to save her. And I did… at a terrible cost." He opened his eyes, staring intently at Alfred. "If I have to choose between her and someone else, I can't guarantee that I will do the right thing."

Part of Alfred wanted to hug Bruce, to reassure him everything would be ok. Another part wanted to slap him across the face to see reason. _He is his own man, so treat him as one. _"Whatever happens, Master Wayne," he started to say. Then he stopped, took a few steps towards Bruce. "Whatever happens, _Bruce,_" making an effort to say his first name, "I will be with you whatever happens." He put his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "All I ask is that you consider the consequences of your actions."

Bruce's eyes opened with surprise when he called him by his first name; it appeared he took Bruce's breath away when he put his hand on his shoulder. A warm glow came to his eyes, then suddenly disappeared as he considered the import of Alfred's words. "All right." Bruce turned around and headed for the door.

"What's the plan, sir?" Alfred asked, all business.

"Finding him will be the easy part," Bruce said. "The hard part… well, you helped a lot."

"Good luck, sir."

"Thanks."

* * *

_It's almost time._

In the darkness, Batman was climbing the complex across from the Prewitt Building, once again trying to keep the fear at bay.

Lucius—bless his moral heart—had agreed to use the phone surveillance device to triangulate the Joker's location. The tactical situation was daunting. _Rachel's in there, along with dozens of hostages… and out on the water, thousands of lives hanging in the balance. _It was worse than even Batman could have imagined.

_Gotta think this through rationally,_ he thought, musing over the Joker's description of his little game. _If one of the boats blows up the other, nothing you can do about it. He says we have till midnight. But when the police go in to rescue the hostages, chances are the Joker will blow them up straight away. Moreover, no doubt he's keeping Rachel close by, as his ace in the hole. _Bruce shivered.

_We have to cut off the head right away. _But the Joker could be hiding anywhere inside. He took out his communicator: "Lucius, did you get the building specs?"

"They're on my screen now."

"I need to know where the Joker might be hiding inside. Figure he's on the side looking over the water. Can you narrow it down?"

"Working on it. I'll get back to you soon." It went dead. Batman continued climbing. When he reached the rooftop, the police had just arrived, beginning to set up a perimeter. Snipers were taking positions. _There's something else, something I'm missing…_ But he couldn't think of it.

His communicator came to life. "Sir, unless they start using their phones I can't lock in." Batman silently swore. "But I was able to trace what floor the Joker was on when he phoned in the threat, and based on the plans, my guess is he's in the executive suite. There's only one elevator and stairwell in, so for SWAT entering from the roof or the ground it would take the longest to reach that location." The communicator now showed a schematic of the building. Quickly a plan came to mind: he would glide around the building, crash through the windows on the floor below, then go up the stairs…and deal with the Joker once and for all.

"Good work, Lucius. Standby." He turned off the communicator. In the mean time, the police appeared to be settled in. Batman strode forward. A police captain who Bruce did not recognize was in charge of things. "Is Gordon all right?" he asked.

The police captain was a pro, only showing a little surprise when he emerged from the shadows. "He's in intensive care, but should make a recovery." He gestured towards the Prewitt Building. "Thanks for the tip."

"What's the situation?"

"It's a hostage scenario, we've got clowns carrying guns watching over groups of hostages from the hospital," the captain said. "Most of them are on the near side, right by the windows—I don't get it, they're sitting ducks."

"There's something up," Batman said immediately. "It's never simple with the Joker, there's always a twist."

"Any ideas?"

Batman couldn't think of any. "Not at the moment. What's your plan?"

The captain turned away, looking back at the building with binoculars. "We've got SWAT teams waiting at the entrance, preparing to drop on the rooftop. We go in simultaneously, take out the gunmen, minimal losses."

"What about the Joker, do you have a fix on him?"

The captain fidgeted. "Uh, no."

"Don't worry, I do. Here's what we're going to do."

"Now wait a minute—"

Batman cut him off. "Get your teams in position, but don't enter yet." He handed the captain a signaling device. "When this goes on, send your men in. Tell them to be on the lookout for traps, tricks—anything. I'll take out the Joker and keep him from blowing up the ferries." As one, they all looked out to the waters, where the two ferries, motionless, were dimly lit against the dark night sky.

"The people on the boat won't pull the trigger themselves," Batman said confidently. Before the captain could argue otherwise, he continued: "There's no point in playing the Joker's game—who's to say they won't blow themselves up if they decide to blow up the other boat?" The other police looked stunned, as if they hadn't considered the possibility. "It'd be just like him," Batman growled. "We just have to make sure he doesn't blow them up himself."

"We better hurry, less than twenty minutes to midnight," the captain said. "Tell the teams to deploy," he said to an aide.

"Wait for my signal." Batman paused before spreading his gliderwings. "Good luck."

* * *

Batman soared through the night sky, circling around the building. It was going to be close—suddenly he realized he didn't have enough altitude. He was going to have to enter a floor below. At the last minute he collapsed the wings and covered his face as he slammed into the window. There was an awful shattering of glass, and the impact was like being in a car crash. But the impact had slowed his velocity, so he rolled to a quick stop inside the darkened building. Immediately he sprang to his feet, activating his night vision. There was no one around.

He turned on the communicator. "I'm in, give me a status report."

"Hold on. Here's the information." Instantly his vision was filled with shimmering images of the locations of the gunmen and hostages. None were in his immediate vicinity; most were concentrated on the other side of the building. _This is easier than I thought._ That made him worried. "Any sign of the Joker?"

"It's real faint, but here's something." The new information came in. Sure enough, two floors above him, a single figure paced about. _Him._ There were several other shapes, indistinct, moving about. _Not human._ It was time. Batman headed for the stairwell, then paused: there were booby-traps strewn across the steps. _No time to disarm._ He headed for the elevator shaft, which was clear.

Using his grappling gun, he fired it and began lifting himself into position. A quick check of the elevator doors showed no traps. Bracing himself, Batman activated the signal device and waited. Seconds later, off in the distance, he could hear dull booms. _Showtime._ He pulled the doors apart and leaped inside.

The floor was dark and unfinished, with building materials strewn everywhere. He turned up his sensors to full gain, seeking the Joker.

An invisible voice cackled: "Knock knock, who's there?" Batman wheeled about.

"Give me the detonator!" he screamed to the darkness.

Instead of a voice, several loud barks responded. _Dogs?_ Immediately ahead he saw three large canines running towards him. They leaped at him, knocking him to the ground. As one locked its jaws around his left leg, he grabbed one dog by the head and hurled it back towards the elevator shaft. Yelping, its voice quickly faded away. Another dog had his right forearm, tugging viciously. Rolling on the ground, he smashed it in the eyes, which caused it to yelp and release. Now free, he began punching and kicking at the other dog, which released him and shrieked in pain. Before he could deal with the other dog, he was suddenly smashed by a hard metal pipe. Somewhere above him, the Joker was laughing maniacally. He struggled to his feet.

His sonar vision was either broken or sending him too much information; unable to see clearly, he switched it off. Now he was surrounded by darkness, but his sight had not yet adjusted to the dark. A dark shape moved at his feet; he stamped down, again and again. The dog collapsed, its ribcage broken. He pivoted frantically, trying to get a fix—

—something rammed into his left side, knocking him over. Again he was pummeled by the Joker, some of the blows hitting hard enough to bruise or break his own ribs. Ignoring the pain in his chest, Batman lashed out with his arms and legs. A well-placed boot hit home, sending the Joker sprawling away. Wearily he got to his feet, instinctively retreating into a defensive stance, but the Joker was scrambling away, heading towards the windows. Batman followed, emerging from the maze of unfinished walls into a large open space. The Joker was standing by an unfinished portion of the wall, the outside wind whipping through and tossing his hair madly in all directions. He held a detonator in his right hand and his left hand—

—Batman froze. At his side, barely able to stand, was a covered figure who could only be Rachel. Grinning, the Joker got behind her and pulled off the tarp covering her, lifting her to her feet. She was still dressed in a hospital gown, and the bandages on her face had been removed. He could see just well enough to see the hideous mass of scarring. The rest of her face had a haggard, exhausted look. She hung limply in his arms, as if drugged.

Suddenly, she kicked to life. "Batman, don't listen to him! Forget about me, just kill—"

"—Shh, shh," the Joker said, squeezing her throat. "I knew you'd come," the Joker resumed conversationally. Batman very slowly moved to one side, not approaching, then to the other. The Joker watched him but did nothing else in response. "Like me, you couldn't wait to see how it would turn out." He gestured out the window. "In a few minutes, we'll see what Gotham's citizens are truly made of."

"Give up," Batman growled. "You're surrounded on all sides. It's over."

"Not quite, my dear Batman. You hear that?" Batman thought he heard gunfire in the distance, although his head was ringing with pain that he couldn't be sure. "Your flat-footed friends in the police were shooting the wrong people. Appearances can be so deceiving, as you know."

_What does he mean? Oh no—_

"That's right, your brave SWAT teams just shot a whole bunch of doctors and nurses! Ha! While my men in scrubs 'scrubbed' them out. Hahahahaha!" The Joker tsk-tsked him. "You figured it out the first time, why didn't you help them connect the dots?"

Batman was furious at himself for underestimating the Joker again. _If only I had scouted ahead of the police…_ But there was no time to recriminate. "If you don't surrender, you'll die."

"Everyone dies, Batman. Like I say, if you gotta go, go out in style!" Batman approached him; instantly the Joker held out the detonator. Rachel feebly tried to grab at it, but he tightened his hammerlock around her throat.

Batman was getting desperate. "Alright, you win." He stood up straight. "I surrender. I'll take off my mask if you just let Rachel and the people on the ferries go."

Reaching for the seals of his cowl, Bruce was completely surprised by the Joker's reaction of unbridled fury. "No, no, no, NO! You can't quit the game! Stop, stop right now or I'll kill her and blow them all up!" Batman stopped, for a moment unsure of what to do.

The Joker was still agitated, obviously trying to compose himself. After shaking his head a bit, he opened his eyes and smiled. "Okay, better. Now, getting back to where we were—ah, yes, the ferries." He grinned further, a most unpleasant sight. "Like I said, first I'll show you Gotham's true colors. Wanna make a bet? I bet it's the good people who strike first."

Batman's eyes darted to a wall clock: only a few minutes. "I'll take that bet," Batman said. "I bet when it's midnight, neither boat will blow up."

"You have a strange, misplaced faith in humanity," the Joker said derisively. "Did you learn it from the same place you learned how to beat up people—"

"—if I win, you let her go."

The Joker burst out laughing. "Oh really? You wanna wager? What do I get if I'm right?"

Batman did not hesitate. "A quick death."

"Not much of a prize." But the Joker stopped laughing. He asked shrewdly: "And what if I just decide to blow up both boats for the heck of it?"

Now Batman smiled. "I kill you _slowly._"

The Joker's eyes narrowed, then he nodded approvingly. "That's more like it. But I'm afraid your mask isn't as dark as you think." He looked down at Rachel and sniffed her hair, licking his lips. "Your little friend here has told me all about you. I know what makes you tick."

Rachel said, chokingly: "I didn't tell you anything, you crazy psycho—"

"—Damnit, you ruined the punchline of my joke!" He kneed her in the back, causing her to stagger. Batman clenched his fists, but did not approach. "Anyway, I can see your black heart, Batman. And it's not as black as mine. Not yet, anyway. But we'll see, won't we?"

"What do you mean?" Instantly he regretted saying anything.

Again the Joker gestured outside with the detonator. "This is all for your benefit." He sighed. "I know I wasn't much of a student—though in my defense, I did burn down my middle school when I was twelve—but you are absolutely the worst. _You. Just. Won't. Learn!_" He spat each word out for emphasis. "First, I showed you that these losers in Gotham would kill someone they didn't even know, someone who didn't hurt them at all, just because someone like me said they'd benefit from it."

"You'll pay for that," Batman said coldly.

"—not even a word of thanks, that's another problem of yours, ingratitude." The Joker shifted, backing up slightly. Batman took a step towards him. "So again I need to reinforce the lesson. How many people will die before you learn it this time?"

"No one's going to die on those ferries," Batman said resolutely, although he was beginning to worry.

"Are you deliberately this naive, or are you just plain stupid?" The Joker sounded angry again, no doubt incapable of believing anyone could have faith in people.

"He's more human than you'll ever be," Rachel sneered, which warmed Bruce's heart, even if it distracted Batman for a moment.

Suddenly, he then realized that more than a minute had passed since midnight. _We'll see who's right about humanity now._ A moment later, the Joker seemed to realize it too. He quickly glanced out, then at Batman, then out again. When he faced Batman, he had a slight frown, which stood out against his gaudy carved smile.

"Did you think people deep down were as ugly as you?" Batman said, with all the contempt he could muster. "You're the real joke."

The Joker's frown deepened. "You win some, you lose some," he murmured quietly. "That's chance, for you. Can't rig everything." He actually sounded unsure. The Joker then fell silent, which was as unnerving as anything he said. Finally he spoke: "Time for the final play."

"No more games," Batman said loudly, furiously. "Give up or die."

"You're not very good at this, are you?" the Joker said, his voice regaining confidence. "Never make a threat you can't carry out. You just did it twice; now I know you're all talk."

"Try me," Batman said in a low voice.

"You know, being a hero really sucks. Because you always have to do what other people think is right. Time for you, Batman, to stop playing games." Grinning, he quickly backed up to the window ledge, pushing Rachel halfway out with his right hand, and holding the detonator out with his left.

"No!" Batman cried.

"Yes," the Joker said. "You can either save Dent's two-timing, unfaithful little whore," he shook Rachel roughly, "or the thousands of people on both ferries. Now I know what a hero would do. What about you?"

"Don't worry about me!" Rachel cried. "Please, I don't matter! Save the others!"

"I'd listen to her if I were you," the Joker said with mock sympathy. "After all, skanks like her are a dime-a-dozen, and this one's damaged goods—"

—Batman leaped towards them. The Joker tossed Rachel and the detonator over the side, laughing hysterically.

Like at the fundraising party Batman did not allow himself any time to retaliate against the Joker—every second counted, the only way he could reach her was to leap out right behind. Ahead of him, Rachel was tumbling head over head; he did not hear her scream like she did before. Streamlining himself, he cut down on wind resistance and slowly gained on her. Seconds later, he had caught up to her, and extended his wings. Unlike before, he feared a sudden impact would kill her in her weakened state, so he deliberately steered towards the water, gliding as long as he could.

Moments later, they splashed down in the water. Gasping, Batman disengaged the cape lest it drag them down. They both stopped coughing up water when off in the distance a bright orange fireball illuminated the night sky. It took a deliberate act of will not to simply give in and allow himself to sink beneath the waves.

* * *

Wearily he asked: "Are you all right—"

"—I don't believe it, you let all those people die!" Rachel was suddenly alive, and shaking with rage.

Bruce's eyes were moist, and not just from the water. "I couldn't risk you dying, I love—"

"—don't dare, don't you _dare_ say you love me!" Rachel pounded at him with her fists, then pushed him away. "I don't know you anymore! I thought you—this—was about helping people! It was all a lie! All you care about is your own selfish desires." She was crying, screaming, choking with rage, fury, pain.

He swam to her. "Rachel, I'm sorry—"

"—yeah, easy to say sorry with all your money, your ego!" She started to gurgle. "I hate you, Bruce Wayne, Batman, whatever you are! I hope you die—no! I hope you live to be a hundred, and every night you see all those people you killed in your dreams. I hope they tear your heart to pieces, you monster, you, you bastard, you—" Her voice trailed away.

"Rachel? RACHEL!" Bruce came up to her; she had become unconscious, from exhaustion, blood loss, or shock, he didn't know. Gently he put her on his back and began swimming to shore. His body ached everywhere, and his limbs were heavy as iron. But he would gladly endure all the physical pain he felt, all the pain he had endured in his crimefighting career to date, if it could have drowned out the memory of those words. _Hateful words. Angry words…_

…_true words._

* * *

What seemed like hours later, a police boat cutting through the darkness came upon them. They lifted her aboard first, then himself. Batman watched the personnel care for the still-unconscious Rachel.

"Which ferry blew up? I only saw one."

"The civilian one," the driver said grimly. "We've found a few survivors, but the rest…" His voice trailed away. They rode back to the docks in silence.

Ashore, Batman watched them medevac Rachel away. Carefully dodging his way through the mass of public officials trying to deal with the catastrophe, he finally ran into the captain, who looked like he aged fifty years overnight.

Stepping into a quiet alleyway, he whispered: "The Joker got away. We found a dead SWAT member missing his uniform, he must have sneaked off during the confusion."

Batman was too exhausted, too broken, to care at the moment. But he felt an overwhelming need to confess: "The Joker told me he disguised the hostages in clown masks, and vice-versa," he said, admitting the screwup.

The captain's face became hard and grim. "It was a disaster. We must have killed at least fifteen hostages, then another dozen SWAT members dead or wounded. You warned us, we should have been more careful—"

"—No, it's my fault," Batman said. "I didn't figure it out until too late."

"What happened up there? For a few minutes, we thought you'd done it, and then…" His voice was frustrated, angry, but above all exhausted.

"The Joker tossed Miss Dawes and the detonator out the window simultaneously. I thought I could get them both, but I couldn't." That was another lie that only the Joker would know to be true. _The lies are coming quicker and easier each time. _It was another connection he had with the Joker that he would do anything to be without.

The captain didn't seem inclined to press the issue. "Well, you tried. I hope Gordon recovers soon, God knows what we do now."

"I hope so, too." The captain looked at him quizzically, as if expecting more. He then shrugged and mumbled, 'Good night', leaving him alone in the night.

Fifteen minutes later he was back at the Batpod and heading home. Over and over a single word filled his mind, as inescapable as it was undeniable:

_Failure..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Commissioner James Gordon gingerly put on his dress shirt, taking care not to brush against the pressure bandages wrapped around his ribcage. Even so, the mere act of breathing caused a shot of pain like an icepick to pierce his side. He had to pause to catch his breath.

"Let me help," Barbara said behind him, standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

"I've got it," he said through gritted teeth.

"Jim, the doctors said you need to take at least three more weeks off," she replied. "If you're going back to work after three days, you need all the help you can get." She reached around him and began buttoning his shirt. This time he didn't resist.

"Thanks."

"No problem." She kissed him, then proffered an old red tie. "Shall I do the honors?"

He nodded, and Barbara gently placed the tie over his head. Now fully dressed, she spun him around and gave him a lookover. "You look better than you feel."

"I've been worse." He gave her a pained smile. Barbara did not smile back. Gordon chided himself silently; one thing a cop (he still thought of himself as a cop, despite his new lofty status) never joked about with his wife was the possibility of being hurt on the job. _And I crossed the line by making her think the worst had happened, even if it was for their sakes._ "Don't worry, everything will be alright."

"But he's still out there," she said in a small, frightened voice. "Can you stop him?"

"We will. He's only one man. We'll get him." The confidence he projected was almost enough to make him believe it…almost. It did seem to have the desired effect on Barbara, though.

"Just be careful." She came up quickly to him and kissed him passionately. "I love you."

"I love you too." Breaking from her tight embrace, he slowly, painfully began heading for the door.

* * *

Gordon told his driver to take him directly to City Hall. _I need to know how Garcia wants to take things from here._ He hoped he had some ideas, because the situation was catastrophic. With the Joker free again after blowing up hundreds of civilians on that ferry, after tricking his SWAT teams into killing dozens of hostages while taking dozens of casualties themselves, Gotham was firmly in the grip of a panic unlike anything that had ever happened before. He could hear it in the hysterical voices on TV and on radio; he read the sensationalist headlines in all the papers. It was nine in the morning, yet the streets downtown were almost deserted, while countless thousands were fleeing the city as fast as they could.

Worst of all, with Dent and Lau dead, the courts would eventually order them to release all the crooks they had managed to sweep up. With the DA dead and the assistant DA nearly so, there was no one able to mount a legal response to the army of mob lawyers even now making motions for all charges to be dismissed. _If that happens, Dent will have died for nothing,_ Gordon thought bitterly.

Even with respect to the Batman, Gordon's faith wavered. _He failed._ Perhaps that shouldn't have been a surprise; after all, the Batman was human, no matter how easy it was to think otherwise. Still, Gordon was shaken to the core when his subordinates had told him what happened at the Prewitt building a few days ago. _How could he have let those people die? And how could he not have apprehended the Joker?_ Failure was one thing, but far worse than that was the thought, which he dared not acknowledge even to himself, that all this mayhem was a consequence of him tacitly agreeing to unleash the Batman in the first place.

_I warned him of escalation; he said it wouldn't be a problem, and I believed him._ But escalation had occurred, and it was more terrible beyond comprehension. _Am I responsible, even a little bit, for everything that's happened?_ Much as he wanted to deny it, a part of him couldn't.

It was so bleak, Gordon toyed with the idea of tendering his resignation. But that was merely an impulsive thought; upon further reflection, such an act would be appallingly selfish on his behalf. _You've been given a job to do, so do it._

Gordon sighed. "So be it. Come what may."

The patrol car pulled up in front of City Hall. Slowly, limping slightly, Gordon made his way inside, patiently waiting to enter past the layers of security now ringing the building. Outside the Mayor's office there was a hard-faced man in a dark suit wearing sunglasses. He looked sourly at Gordon as he approached, and his hand quickly shifted to his side. _Private security. Doesn't trust us—and who could blame him? _Nonetheless, it got his gander up.

"I'm Police Commissioner Gordon. I have an appointment with the Mayor." If the goon asked for his ID, or demanded to frisk him, the meeting would be moot, because he would summarily resign.

That did not happen. Instead, the guard nodded, and opened the door, gesturing inside. Gordon said nothing as he went in.

"Sit." Mayor Garcia, his face haggard and angry, did not mince any words. As the door closed behind him, he made his way to Garcia's desk and sat down in a chair in front of it.

"We're in a hell of a mess," spat Garcia quickly, angrily. "I need to know what the police is going to do about it."

_So much for waiting for instructions._ "We're investigating all possible leads—"

"—spare me the party line," Garcia spat back. "You know as well as I do, half of them don't give a damn what happens, and the other half are on the mob's payroll, or crazy enough to be work for the Joker—"

That was over the line. "Say that to the twenty one police families who no longer have a father or husband thanks to the clown," Gordon said in a deathly cold voice. "We're trying to hold this city together with spit and ducktape, and all you can do is posture? Maybe you'd like someone else to do the job." Gordon slowly got up, suddenly deciding that resignation might not be such a bad thing after all.

The anger on the Mayor's face vanished, replaced by worry. "You're right, I was out of line," he mumbled, uncertainly. "I apologize. Please." He gestured with his hand.

Gordon did not sit back down, but he did not leave, either. The mayor continued: "This is between you and me." He then paused, waiting. _Off the record._ Gordon nodded. "I need the Joker's head on a platter. Yesterday. And that's no metaphor."

Gordon clucked his teeth. "I understand. But whoever this guy his, he's got hooks like I've never seen." That was as close as he would come to acknowledging the Mayor was part right. _He knew. Somehow, he knew…_

"What about Batman?"

_What indeed?_ Gordon had to think fast. "The 'Batman' is a loose cannon, he has nothing to do with this investigation—"

"—Gordon, tell the Batman he has to kill the Joker."

Gordon heard the words, but their meaning flew past him. He had to repeat to himself to make him believe what he heard was right. "I'm sorry, Mayor, you said?"

"You know what I said."

Gordon shook his head sadly. "Sir, asking someone to kill another is conspiracy to commit murder. If you don't take that back, I'll have no choice—"

"—but to arrest me?" Garcia's voice was dripping with mockery. "You think you can do that to me, in my town, with my people backing me up?"

Gordon had no idea to whom he was referring. Intrigue aside, he replied: "The law is the law—"

"—unless you conspire with vigilantes to bend it yourself." Garcia came up from behind the desk and up close to him, almost nose to nose. "We have to do this. And he's the perfect one to do the dirty work. Our hands will be clean," he said softly. "Tell him to name his price, and it's his."

Gordon was starting to itch, and it had nothing to do with his bandages. "He won't do that. He doesn't kill."

"How do you know that?"

"I do." Garcia's eyes narrowed. He returned back to his desk, frowning.

Gordon was deeply troubled by the mayor's line of thinking. Greatly daring, he said: "That's the one rule he won't break, and the only thing that keeps us from bringing him down."

Rocking back and forth in his chair, Garcia looked penetratingly back at him. "There's always an exception." Gordon tried to keep from sagging. "The Joker must go down. Now. Any means necessary. I'll back you all the way." The mayor got up. "Don't come back here until he's taken care of. Understood?"

"We will bring the Joker to justice, Mayor. I promise that." He didn't look happy at all. Garcia jerked his head at him once. Gordon took the hint; slowly he turned around and left.

* * *

When the door closed behind him, Mayor Garcia's view lingered on it for a few seconds more. Then he took out a cellphone and began to dial. "It's me. Look's like a no go. I agree, but who? You think? I don't know. Me? Are you sure? Okau, how should I do it? Right, that should work. Alright, when? Got it, just let me know."

The connection went dead. Garcia erased the number from his phone and sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the table.

* * *

Once again, Rachel Dawes awoke to pain.

It was the slow-burning kind, feeling like a terrible sunburn. Sometimes, the pain would stab inwards, piercing her head like needles jammed up one's nose. For the first few days it made her vomit uncontrollably, but now she had learned to control her reactions to it, to the point where it only caused her to weep in response. The tears would flow freely down from her right eye, while something akin to blood leaked from her left. She dabbed it away with a tissue and threw it into a garbage can that was half-filled with crumpled balls of red and white paper.

The days since it happened had seemed to merge into one hazy blur. The memories were indistinct, but oftentimes she could see herself, as if she was outside her own body. Rachel remembered seeing herself at Harvey's funeral, clutching the hands of her parents as they lifted her up and helped her to his coffin, where she laid a flower across it. She saw herself at other policemen funerals, doing the same thing.

In her memories, Rachel saw herself bedside afterwards, receiving an endless stream of dignitaries and well-wishers: her family, the mayor, other attorneys in the DA office, friends from here and there. She saw herself bathed in the bright lights of cameras as journalists asked her questions, to which she had said nothing. She saw herself a lot considering how little time had passed objectively, even though it was a lifetime already.

There were two things she did not see: she did not see Harvey. And she did not see Bruce. At all.

_That's odd. Why don't I remember it? _Then Rachel realized she did remember it, but it was like shadows, puppet play. It did not seem to have any reality to her.

Once again she let it play out in her mind, trying to recapture the reality of it all. _Darkness. Tied down. The stink of oil. Dark shapes—Bruce. Or Batman. A terrible orange flash!_

When she tried to remember further, all she saw was fire. There was no memories of the burning. Rachel continued on. It took awhile, but finally the memories came:

_I was in a bed, just like last time. And the Joker was there. He was a nurse. He said bad things, he tried to hurt me. He did hurt me. Then another explosion. Tied up again. He told me he was going to do more bad things, make people kill themselves. Dogs. Barking at me; I was afraid they'd bite me. It was dark, and there was Batman. Or Bruce. Then I was falling. _

_Falling forever._

_Falling, falling, falling…_

* * *

Rachel woke up. _I was falling in my dreams. I'm always going to fall._ It was deepest night, and she was lying in her bed, all alone.

She began to cry; tears of pain, tears of grief. Tears of blood.

* * *

Assistant District Attorney Rachel Dawes was on 'Medical Recovery' leave as covered by Gotham City Human Resources Department Form B-12. Translated into English, she would receive full pay—as opposed to just workers comp—because her injuries were extraordinary and inflicted during public service. So after the necessary ceremonies and rituals, Rachel found herself alone in her apartment, with only her fish to keep her company. It was the fifth day since they released her from the hospital for the second time.

She floated by in a medically-induced trance, a side-effect of the powerful narcotics she was taking to kill the pain, a pain which the doctors said would probably never end. She remembered the doctor's words well: _The nerves in your face are permanently switched on in a pain-feeling mode. We can't use BoTox to stop it, they're too close to the other facial muscles, if we paralyzed the nerves you wouldn't be able to breathe. _"Too bad, so sad."

Wearing a long pink bathrobe, she stopped in front of a mirror. Half of her was her normal, unremarkable self. The other half—_how amazingly perfect, right down the middle!—_was a shredded purplish black mess. The attempts to put skin grafts on her ruined face were unsuccessful; too much of the underlying tissue had been destroyed for the grafts to hold. All the doctors could do was scrape away as much of the burned flesh as they could, and cover it with a clear sealant to prevent infection. _Well, it's not like you got where you were because of your looks, so no big loss._

Rachel tried to smile. The right side of her mouth curled up in a cute way. She touched her cheek, the way Harvey used to. _Strange how I feel nothing. _The left side of her mouth was frozen in place. Here, the flesh was so badly ruined it was stripped away completely, so she could see the inside of her mouth, mostly white upper and lower rear molars closed together. _Good teeth structure, healthy gums. You got that going for you, girl! _The contours of the remaining muscle curled upward and downward, leaving the left side of her mouth frozen into a simultaneous grin and frown

"Not too bad," she slurred to herself. Her voice was flat and wet, with a nasal quality to it. Part of that was her damaged face meant air flowed through her mouth every time she spoke. Another part was due to the powerful cocktail of drugs, which did manage to reduce the pain to an incessant itch, but at the cost of making the world go by at half-speed and fogging her memory.

The tea kettle whistled. Slowly she shuffled over to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of hot tea. She drank through a straw, since now any attempt to drink from a cup usually led to…an unfortunate accident. Even now, drops of brown water dribbled out of the gaping hole in the left side of her jaw, staining her robe.

Rachel sat in front of the television set. On the news was a grim faced lawyer standing in front of the Gotham City courthouse. _McKenzy, another member of the DA's office. _It was hard to muster up the effort to care, but she continued to watch: "—naturally we will appeal this outrageous decision by the court to release the members of the mob District Attorney Dent brought in last month. Just because Lau is missing doesn't mean the State lacks evidence to bring charges—"

"How interesting," was all Rachel could manage to say as the TV reporters yammered on. As much as her mind began to explain to herself the horrible implications of what she just heard—_Harvey's work will die with him—_the mushy calm created by the drugs left her incapable of outrage. _I think I'll have chicken soup for dinner._

An hour later, as she tried to keep the microwaved broth from dripping out of her mouth, Rachel suddenly came to a revelation: _enough_. Dropping the spoon, she slowly got up, went to the bathroom, and tossed all her pills into the trash. Looking at her figure in the mirror, she slurred: "Let's see what I can still feel."

* * *

"AHHHH!"

Rachel was shuddering on the floor, drawing blood as her right hand clawed at her left, which almost of its own wanted to reach out and rip the scar covering her face. Shrieking, she thrashed about the floor, kicking, knocking over chairs. Exploding like a volcano, the sum total of her physical and emotional pain burst out from within her, consuming her in an orgy of suffering.

…_Her head was on fire—she could hear the very flesh of her face sizzling like steaks on a grill. She was being burned alive! Some dark force was hitting her, trying to put out the flames, but all she wanted was for everything to end, to die…_

…_Grief and hatred flooded her as Bruce told Rachel Harvey died because he chose to save her. Grief for the loss of her beloved, who surely died as she almost did; hatred for Batman, for Bruce, whose insane desire to play vigilante had unleashed the horror of the Joker, who no doubt let Harvey died so that he could have her at last…_

…_A wave of revulsion and terror came roaring back in the white sepulcher-form of the Joker, who had killed Harvey and all those other people for his own sick gratification; who she thought would violate her body, but instead violated her soul; who terrified her because so much of what he said—that Batman had killed Harvey, that Harvey might have used her and tossed her aside because of the ambition she knew he had; and revulsion at her own cowardice, for failing to kill the him when she had the chance…_

…_He was right about Batman, about Bruce. Not only did Bruce let Harvey die so that he could have her, he let all those people die on the barge. What kind of a hero was he? None at all!_

…_But the worst thing of all was that, that _thing _had made her see herself clearly, shown her how all she believed in, all she had tried to do, had been meaningless, a sick joke. Law? What good is the law? Rather than have a guilty conscience because the law might say killing that animal would not be self-defense, I insisted on upholding my own so-called morality, my own ideology, my arrogance. Because of me, hundreds of people died; but-for my failure to act, I would not have murdered all those men, women, and children! _

…_I hate you Joker, I hate you Bruce. But most of all, I hate myself! Because I've been nothing but a worthless whore to a monstrous system that pretends to do justice, but only cares for itself!_

…_I'm nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!_

Despite the incomprehensible amount of pain wracking her body, the sudden realization of the truth about herself began to transform her pain, so that it oddly became a source of strength. Rachel leaped to her feet, moving quicker than she had in more than a week. The agonizing pain was still there, but at the same time it filled her with strength, with pleasure. She clawed at the base of her neck, leaving red streaks; again she felt that heady mix of pain, power, and pleasure.

_You brought me down to your level,_ she thought viciously. _But that's okay, because I want to be here. Now that we're both in the gutter, the law ain't gonna to save you now!_

Rachel began to laugh. She eyed a flowerpot standing nearby; she grabbed it and tossed it at the wall, shattering it in an explosion of pottery shards and dirt. Throwing off her robe, she began to dance in place at the sheer joy of pain.

"Revenge!" she slurred, opening her mouth with such force that the skin tore slightly, causing more pain, which she welcomed. _I will kill the Joker,_ she thought with relish. _No—first, I'll capture him, then I'll skin him alive. Then I'll do the same to Batman, to Bruce…_

…as she thought of Bruce, Rachel's new-found strength wavered. In her mind, she saw him hovering over him, huge and overpowering. The first time she saw him, he was terrifying to behold. As she saw him over and over again in her mind, that fear turned to loathing… to longing… and suddenly she was wracked by doubt. _I want to kill Bruce… I _want_ Bruce… should I?_

A burst of derisive laughter invaded her thoughts. _You kill me?_ Rachel shuddered at the mocking white-face looking back at her in her mind. _Look at you, how pathetically weak you are! You think you can roll with me the gutter? I'm going to enjoy having my way with you before I teach you otherwise…_

"NO!" Rachel screamed, not from fear, but rage; rage at her mutilated form, rage at the absurdity of her plans. Her powerlessness made her so angry she began to weep, tears of water and blood, tears of rage. She sank to the floor, breathing heavily, trying to think of what she could do to avenge herself and all the others who died at her hands.

In her rage, however, Rachel saw nothing but a ghostly image of her disfigurement, staring back at her from the polished apartment floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The sun was rapidly setting in the sky, casting a soft orange glow on the rising columns and walls of New Wayne Manor. A hive of activity during the day, the throngs of workers and vehicles moving about had retired for the evening. Now, the area was gripped by a bitter silence.

Alone, Bruce Wayne was pacing back and forth, haphazardly inspecting the work. He bent down and picked up a chunk of building material, looked it over, then dropped it. For the past hour, he had tried to pass the time with similar such-futile gestures, and his patience was beginning to fray. _What's keeping him? _At some risk to himself, he had managed to slip away from business downtown on his own, allowing Alfred to pick up his visitor with greater discretion.

That choice of words made Bruce pause. _Rachel, a 'visitor'._ She had been many things to Bruce over his short, unhappy life—childhood play companion, friend… recently, partner in crime, and perhaps more than a friend?—but to call her a visitor now made her seem so… distant. _As if she were a stranger._ After all they had been through, especially in recent years, it just didn't seem possible.

_But that was before the Joker. Now…_ Bruce didn't want to reflect on what had happened to Rachel since, but he forced himself to do so. _I saved her, but allowed her to nearly burn to death. I failed to save Harvey, and now he's gone—not just the best hope to clean up Gotham, but Rachel's fiancée _(he twitched unconsciously). _I let the Joker kidnap her, then to save her again, I allowed hundreds of innocent lives to be lost, and now she hates me…_

"'Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?'" The mordant words brought no relief to Bruce as he said them to an empty audience of trees, shrubs and squirrels. He sighed, resigned to events. _It's over. _The words brought a fresh stab of pain, but he could no longer deny it. _As long as the Joker remains free, Rachel will be in danger… as long as I remain Batman. It would be better just to let her go. _But he didn't want to. So_… _should he give up the Batman? _But I can't, not with Dent dead. _

The choice was intolerable: continue with the mantle of Batman, and risk Rachel's safety; or give it up, despite the fact that the Joker would still probably go after her. _There's no choice at all; what part of 'I hate you Bruce Wayne, Batman, whoever you are' did you not get?  
_

"So why is she coming here?" _To berate me more? To convince me to give up Batman? To say she's turning me in? _The last thought had come out of nowhere, and it threw him: of course, she knew his secret, she could bring him down with but a word. Bruce found the possibility very discomfiting. _I had volunteered to do that earlier, but that was before the Batman had failed so spectacularly. Would people blame him for the deaths on the ferry?_ _They probably should_, he thought, knowing he would always blame himself.

A sound interrupted his thoughts. Bruce looked up; the limo was pulling up. Bruce took a breath and steadied himself, willing himself to take responsibility for his actions. _Rachel always understood that better than I did,_ he thought. _I should follow her lead._

The limo stopped a dozen feet from where he stood. Alfred got out, nodded his way, then went back and opened the door. Slowly, Rachel emerged. She was wearing a lavender blouse and dark blue jeans, but it was her face that had his undivided attention: the right side of her face was the same familiar, lovely features he remembered, while the left side—

—the left side was covered by a thick translucent plastic mask; absurdly, Bruce was reminded of the _Phantom of the Opera._ It covered the scarring, but at the edges he could still see traces of scarred flesh poking out. The right corner of her mouth drooped slightly in a frown.

Bruce swallowed; her appearance was ineffably unnerving, as he felt a genuine fear of what she would say and do to him. Alfred nodded again and walked away. Slowly, Rachel approached him.

'_Hi Rachel, good to see you!' 'How are you feeling today?'_ Somehow Bruce doubted those words would do. Trying to keep his lips from quivering, he steadied himself as she came up to him. Rachel stopped, and her half-frown twitched upwards into a small smile. "Hello, Bruce," she said.

"Uh, hi Rachel." The words escaped him, and Bruce swore to himself. But Rachel did not react in any way he could discern. She stared at him, as if evaluating a stranger for the first time, like she was looking someone over at a club.

A while later, she gestured with her hand. "Shall we?" She began walking, following a dusty path that the workers had made. Bruce followed after her.

"Are you feeling any better?" With no idea as to how he wanted to play this, or how Rachel wanted to, Bruce decided to stick to the basics.

"No, but that's okay. It can't get any worse than it has already." Her tone was not flat, but casual, almost conversational.

"I'm sorry. I hope that changes." Again he kept it even-keel.

"I hope so too." She stopped walking, pausing to look at the construction of New Wayne Manor. Bruce came up alongside of her, standing to her right.

"How long will it be before they finish?"

"Several more months, but we'll be able to move back in a few weeks." He pointed. "The living section is almost complete."

"That's good."

Bruce was becoming increasingly wary. _She's never really been the one to engage in small talk. Is she working herself up to saying something drastic?_ He decided to take the initiative at last: "I can take you on a more complete tour, but I'm guessing that wasn't what you had in mind for today."

Rachel continued to look at the house, a smile still on her face. "No, it wasn't." She paused. "The people who did this to you, we never caught them." Her voice was softer, gentler, though the damage to her mouth meant that it came out as a partial slushing slur that was only partially recognizable as her original tone of voice.

"No, they all managed to get away."

"What about their leader?"

Bruce swallowed. _Ra's al Gul. _"I stopped him."

"Did he die?"

"Yes." _I don't kill…_

"We never found a body." That fact troubled Bruce to this day. _Why is she bringing this back?_ Before he could react, she spoke again: "Did you kill him?"

_I don't kill…_ "I could have saved him, but… I didn't."

Nodding, she turned to face him. "You know, Bruce, according to law, that was not homicide."

With more than a hint of sarcasm, he replied: "That's good to know." Legal definitions did nothing to assuage his feeling in the matter—

"—and you're not responsible for the deaths of the people in the ferry."

His response was angry and immediate: "No, I am." Bruce turned away; he didn't want to see the accusation in her face, didn't want her to see his own everlasting horror and shame.

Somewhat soothingly, Rachel said: "Failure to act is not a wrongful action—"

"—Damn the law, I killed those people!" he shouted. Bruce whirled about; Rachel's face (half-face) appeared understanding, which made him even more furious. "I did it to save you, but they're dead! All dead! No use pretending otherwise!" He was beseeching; he craved her pardon, knowing she could never give it, and that he could never take it, because no matter what she said or he believed, the answer would always be the same: he failed, and they all died.

"They're dead," she repeated softly, almost inaudibly due to Bruce's heavy breathing and pounding heart. "And the Joker is still loose."

_The Joker._ No combination of curses could begin to describe Bruce's fury and outrage at the Joker's crime. _When I catch him, I'll beat him so badly that he'll wish he was never born—_

"Are you going to go after him?"

"Yes."

"What will you do when you catch him?"

Bruce could think of a hundred things, all equal-parts illegal and painful. The safe and responsible thing to say was: "Bring him to justice," and he did.

"Will you punish him?"

Not really paying attention to her words, he responded: "I will do whatever it takes to capture him." _If he resists apprehension, too bad for him…_

"Will you hurt him?"

_Hurt him__…_ The words sounded strange coming from Rachel; the gentle, feminine way in which she said the words made them even stranger. He had to be honest: "Probably," he admitted.

"Would you kill him?" _Would I?_ Before he could respond or even consider her words further, she continued: "If he was about to kill someone, would you kill him first?"

_That's what I did when I thought Ra's—or who I thought was Ra's at the time—did when he was about to execute—murder—that farmer. _Bruce shuddered at the memory. "I would stop him from murdering," he said distantly, his mind not completely there at the moment.

"By killing him?"

_Is she trying to dissuade me from the possibility of killing him? _"Batman does not kill," he replied more firmly. "I learned that lesson from you."

"Not even in self-defense? Not even to stop the Joker from killing someone else?"

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes. "I've seen enough murder with my own eyes," he said heavily. "I do what I do, so that no one will have to feel what I felt… ever since…" his voice trailed away.

Rachel did something unexpected; she rushed up and hugged him. Beneath him, Bruce could hear her sobbing. Almost reflexively, he began stroking her hair.

Gently she pushed away, wiping a tear from my eyes. "I'm sorry," she said in a choking voice. She looked up at him, a pleading look in her eyes. "Bruce, it's all my fault—"

"—Don't even say that," Bruce said forcefully.

"—you don't understand," she said in a whisper. "In the hospital, the Joker gave me his gun and dared me to kill him. I couldn't, because… because I was too… too scared… too weak…"

She turned away. Bruce was stunned. _The Joker gave her a gun to kill him with? _He was about to argue that she was mistaken, that the gun was empty, that it was all a joke. But as he thought about it, it struck him that the Joker was just insane enough to do something like that.

Even more than he thought possible, his heart felt for her. _Poor Rachel…_ All he wanted to do was hold her and comfort her, but Bruce realized that even if what she said was true, it did not absolve him of his action allowing the ferry passengers to die, and that she still had every reason to hate him—

"That's why he has to die, Bruce," Rachel said. "We can't trust the justice system, the mob will scare away all the jurors, threaten the judges, he'll get off on a technicality." Bruce was stunned by her words; he would believe the Mayor would say something like that, even Harvey. But Rachel? _Impossible._

He did nothing, said nothing. Rachel continued: "The police feel the same way, they'll shoot him on sight. So it's okay, Bruce. You can find him first, you did it before. Take care of him, before anyone else is hurt."

Bruce was still speechless. _Rachel's asking me to kill the Joker? _Just repeating it to himself made it sound less believable, not more. "Uh, Rachel," he stammered.

As if anticipating his reluctance, Rachel slowly reached up and began unhooking the half-mask covering her face. Bruce was about to object, but he stopped himself. He realized what Rachel was going to do, but that didn't make it any easier—

—to gaze at the grotesque visage of her ruined flesh. A mass of purplish scar tissue, ragged and crusty, covered the left side of her face. Large chunks of her flesh had either been burned, torn, or rotted away; a glistening eyeball stared unblinkingly at him, while tendons partially-covered the gaping hole in her jaw, revealing her back molars where her cheek used to be. He struggled to keep from vomiting.

"The Joker did this to me," Rachel said gently, the airy quality of her voice all the more prominent without the mask restraining her. "He did worse to Harvey, to those police officers, to all those people on the ferry. Hundreds of men, women, children… all gone… because he thinks it's all good fun. What would be justice for his crimes?"

Bruce tried to say even the Joker deserved a fair trial, that even if the death penalty (which he opposed in principle) was imposed, that would be true justice… but as her disfigurement stared back at him, half-pleading, half-blank… he couldn't… couldn't reply…

Rachel thankfully placed the mask back over her face, but Bruce couldn't get the horrid images out of his mind. "What will you do if you catch him?" she asked.

Bruce wiped some sweat from his forehead. "Bring him to justice."

Rachel stared blankly back at him, not responding either positively or negatively. Finally, she nodded. "Bruce, I told you that Harvey asked me to marry him, and I said yes."

He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything in response. She continued: "I loved him, and I love you. But he's gone. Murdered." She took a step towards him. "When the Joker is gone for good, you and I…"

Bruce tried to process the import of her words. It was difficult to do so, because he was staring at her, noticing how she had unbuttoned the top buttons of her blouse, how it revealed the natural curves of her—

"—I know you could have any girl you want," she said demurely, "and I know you'd never want to be with someone as horrible-looking as me—"

"—you're beautiful!"

"Thank you, Bruce, that's so sweet." She reached out and with a trembling hand stroked his cheek, which sent a multifaceted surge through him. "I want to be with you, but I know you're not ready." She stepped away. "When it's safe for both of us, when he's dead, you can come to me and… you can have me. If you want. I'll be waiting."

Bruce did not respond. She looked at him quizzically, then smiled. "I think I should go." It was almost dark. She turned and walked back to the limo, and Bruce followed her, more out of sheer reflex, as his brain could barely comprehend what had just happened.

Before getting in, she came up to him and reached up to place a tentative kiss on his lips. Rachel angled her face away as much as possible to keep the plastic mask away, but Bruce could not help but see it out of the corner of his eye, nor could he avoid its strong medicated smell, which overlay a whiff of decay that emanated from beneath.

She broke off the kiss; Bruce both wanted and did not want it to end. "Bye Rachel," he finally said.

"Bye Bruce." She stepped inside the limo, and Bruce closed the door. Alfred came up to him, giving him an encouraging smile, to which he smiled back weakly. Alfred got into the front. Tapping the lid of the limo, Bruce stepped away as Alfred started up the car and drove off.

As soon as the car disappeared from sight, Bruce went to his motorcycle, put on his helmet and drove off. The world passed him by, and he paid no attention to it, instead lost in a mass of jumbled, confused thoughts.

* * *

The moment Rachel got back to her apartment, she rushed to bathroom and threw up. Lunch, breakfast, yesterday's dinner, it all came out. Gagging, she hung her head over the toilet until it was all gone from her system, then she thoroughly rinsed her mouth out.

Disgusted with herself, she threw herself onto her sofa, placed a pillow over her head, and screamed as loud as she could, ignoring the pain from the exertions she was putting her scarred mouth to. _Now I know what a whore feels like!_ The worst part was that there was still a tiny part of her that wanted to be with him, and she had played up that part of her to get her through the masquerade. But now that the act was done, she could see it for what it was: a pathetic remnant of her old self, and a total insult to the memory of Harvey and all the others who died at Bruce's hands.

_What if he actually does it? _Instantly she dismissed the thought from her mind. _Bruce is a joke, unwilling to do what a real man would do in his situation._ The more she thought about it the more incomprehensible it became: how could any man who claimed to love a woman, not be willing to kill anything that posed a threat to his so-called love? _Maybe Batman is his way of compensating for the fact that he no longer has any balls! _

It wasn't a total loss: as best as Rachel could read him, he did not say no outright. But it was still a disappointing outcome, because she had no faith the police could get the Joker. The more she thought about it, the more depressed she became. _Maybe I should just turn him in. At least that way, I'll have my revenge on Bruce._

She considered the option, then rejected it. _Clearly he's capable of doing it, he just needs the right motivation. _Upon thinking that word, Rachel shivered: she knew exactly what kind of 'motivation' would suffice. _I'll have to throw myself at him the next time: no more playing coy._

Rachel got up and went to the mirror. Taking off the mask and staring back at her increasingly-familiar half-corpse self, it suddenly looked much bleaker. _How much longer will he still pretend to want a normal life? I mean, look at yourself!_ She did, and was revolted. _The only way he'll have you is if you put a pillow over your head. Like you said, he could have a million women better looking than you._ If Bruce ever got over his fixation on her, he could move on, in all his wealth and splendor, and she would be left with squat.

_I could still bring him down._ But the more she thought of it, the more she worried: after all, what evidence did she really have that Bruce was Batman? _His word against mine._ Sure, if she went to the press, they could investigate, but with his resources he could probably buy them off. _Or even better, have me taken out. Maybe even get the Joker to do it!_

It was a horrible situation. _So much for playing Bat-girl. Or even Mata-hari. _The bitter truth was, that Rachel Dawes was what she was: a lowly assistant-DA in a corrupt city, who no one would want to be with because she was, literally, half-baked leftovers. _Meanwhile, Bruce can go on and play being Batman as long as he likes, and if and when he decides to hang it up, he just goes back to being a billionaire playboy who's the toast of Gotham._

It was so horrible, so disgusting, so hopeless a situation, Rachel went to her refrigerator and took out the bottles of wine Harvey had sent her a month ago. Popping the cork, she drank straight from the top, ignoring its bitter taste. She kept drinking until the world faded into a warm and dizzy blur, a haze which almost but did not quite eliminate her rage and despair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Batman forced himself to remain calm but alert as he soared up into the heights. It was by now almost routine, climbing up into the heavens through the use of his grappling gun, but even the slightest mistake would mean he would tumble to an ignominious death below. Occasionally as he climbed faces would spot. Only a few times did they ever try to oppose him; he had dealt with them, appropriately. Others would cheer; he had no time to respond. Most just stared in astonishment, the reaction he preferred.

There was a definite routine to climbing, one which he struggled not to rush through as he traveled to his rendezvous with Gordon at the top of the Maclaughlin Building. He was not under any strict deadline—1AM would do—but the urgency of the crisis before drove his every move, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman. Above all, a very personal drive to finish what he started gave him greater determination than he had ever known, but not necessarily greater wisdom.

_The Joker is as smart as you are, maybe smarter. The only way to beat him is not to fall into the traps he's laid out before you. _It was a bitter thing to consider how often the Joker outsmarted him in recent days; he could not afford to let that happen again, even once.

He worried intensely about Rachel's safety; the Joker knew of his feelings for her, and could always strike him that way. His calculations were now complicated by Rachel's… interesting viewpoint of what she wanted him to do. _Kill the Joker? There were times when I wanted to do that, but I always declined. He also knows that's a line I won't cross, will undoubtedly take into account in his future plans._

Batman then realized that Rachel was still suffering from the effects of what had been done to her, and the death of Harvey Dent. _When we capture the Joker, she'll realize that killing him wouldn't be the right thing to do._ After all, she had taught him that lesson with Chill; surely she would not ignore it in this case.

_We can be together if the Joker is defeated,_ she had intimated. It was exactly what he wanted! And yet… _I feel guilty at the idea. She loved Harvey; wouldn't I always be second in her mind and heart? And haven't I caused her enough pain? She would definitely be better off without me, in case someone else learned the truth…_

While those words were logical, they were also painful in a way kicks and punches could never be. _First I wanted her, then she didn't want me. Now she wants me, but I'm not sure I want her—not because I _don't _want her, but because I think she's better off without me. _

The Batman sighed. _Once she's in her right mind, not only will she forget all that stuff about wanting to kill the Joker, she'll want to move on. _For him, the only thing that mattered was stopping the Joker, before he ruined anymore lives. _We can all agree on that!_

He raced up the last of the exterior stairwells and onto the roof. In the distance, through the darkness he saw a single solitary figure. Batman ran towards him.

Propping himself up with a cane, Commissioner Gordon nodded as he came up besides him.

"Evening, Commissioner," Batman said.

"Still getting used to the title myself."

"You wear it well."

"Thank you. High praise indeed."

"How are you feeling?"

Gordon shifted his weight, which caused him to wince. "I've been worse, but not much."

"We've got a problem."

"No kidding. If I never see another circus clown, it'll be too soon."

"I screwed up," Batman said reluctantly, but without hesitation. "More than once. Dent's dead because of me. All those people on the ferry. Your SWAT men."

"You did save Dawes."

_Did I? _"I don't know if I'm the right guy anymore," he confessed. "You may have been right, we've been hit by escalation." For the second time, he decided to lay all his cards on the table, before someone he trusted: "If you say so, I'll step aside for good." _The last time I made that offer, Dent decided to stick with me. What will Gordon do, now that it's all gone to hell?_

"The thought… had crossed my mind." Batman winced internally. "Maybe the fight is hardest just before the end. We had them on the run, then they turned to the Joker. It's not like they could get anyone worse, could they?"

"I don't think so." _I hope not._

"You got any leads? You found him the last time."

"No, he's gone to ground." _And I promised Lucius not to use the surveillance net anymore. Not that it would have worked much longer; I have to assume the Joker has figured out how I tracked him down by now._ "We're back at square one."

Gordon sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Then we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way: good old police work."

Batman hated to do so, but he had no choice but to bring it up: "What about the bent cops who helped the Joker? Have you got them all?"

Gordon frowned. "We're definitely onto them. But I admit, I don't trust everyone. Not nearly."

Batman nodded. "Use the men you trust personally, and no one else."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Do I have a green light?"

"Yep. Greener than green."

"I don't follow."

Gordon did not answer right away. In the darkness, he looked troubled. "If you caught the Joker, got him in your grip, what would you do?"

_Tear him to little pieces. _Batman closed his eyes and bit his lip. "He'll probably be worse for the wear by the time I brought him down," he admitted, refusing to say anymore.

"Would you put him down for good?"

"I don't kill." _For now…_

Gordon nodded. "I think that's the right call."

Now Batman was troubled. Trying not to be accusatory, he said: "You think?"

Again Gordon paused. "The Joker has hurt Gotham bad. Real bad. Just between you and me," he said, pausing in anticipation of an acknowledgement from Batman, which he gave by nodding. "The Mayor and the other big shots want the Joker off the table for good, yesterday."

"Did they want me to do it?" Gordon nodded.

"That's not the way I work."

"It may be the way they work."

"What are you implying?"

Gordon shifted his stance, shaking his head. "I don't know. I've never heard someone in the City government be so blatant about wanting to eliminate somebody. It's happened in the past, sure, but they've always been quiet about it. For him to go off like that, the big players must be really putting pressure on him."

Batman understood the reference: the City government was nothing more than a puppet, playing to the real masters, the one's with money and influence. Big business, big labor, the mob, for decades these groups had vied to control the machinery for their own ends. In recent years, the mob had grown ascendant; now that they were in retreat, the other powers might be pushing behind the scenes to take over. And Number 1 on the list of threats to their ascendancy was a wildcard like the Joker. _Of course, that means Enemy #2 on their list would be none other than himself!_ He couldn't help but smile at the irony.

What he said, however, was pure business: "Have they done anything? Or is it just talk?"

"Sounds like talk for now. But I'm not that plugged in."

"I'll keep my eyes and ears open." _As Batman and Bruce Wayne._

"Regardless of what's going on behind the scenes, we have to stop the Joker. We lose everything if we don't."

"Right. I'm on it."

"Good luck."

"You too."

Batman left and began his descent. The meeting with Gordon had gone just about as expected; on the plus side, apparently they didn't blame him too much for all the screw-ups with the Joker, even though he blamed himself. On the minus side, it looks like the City (and possibly the police) was about to take the gloves off against the Joker.

Batman knew it was more than a little hypocritical that he was concerned that officialdom might start acting behind the scenes. But knowing his own abilities and limits, and the temptations that unchecked power could bring, he worried about an overreaction. _Gordon seems to be for restraint, but that might just have been for show. And in any case, he may not have full control over the cops. Besides the mob and the Joker, who was to say they wouldn't follow someone else who could wave a paycheck in front of their noses?_ That was the most likely scenario Gordon was speculating about: if the City really wanted to take off the gloves with the Joker, there were plenty of cops who'd do it for free, and even more who'd do it for cash.

After a while he finally glided to the ground and where the Batpod was hidden. Riding way, Batman considered what this meant for the future. _We may end up cris-crossing paths on the street,_ he thought with dismay._ Better be sure to be careful._

* * *

Rachel was so lost in a mixture of pain and stupor that at first she didn't hear the doorbell. _Just the pink elephants again! _If only it had been so innocent; drunkenness really wasn't any relief, or even escape. It was just a way to make everything confusing, and to forget about it in the confusion. When you came to, all the problems were still there, just worse for having further delayed in attempting to solve them.

"Well to hell with my problems," she slurred. But her ingrained sense of responsibility had not yet been totally killed by her mutilation and medication. Slowly, painfully, she picked herself off of the floor of her apartment and made her way to the door.

When Rachel peered through the viewer she was surprised: it was Mayor Garcia. Hurrying to steady herself, she quickly made herself presentable, then opened the door.

The Mayor stood there, dressed rather causally. Off in the distance, she could see two guards watching over the area. They didn't look like police, but civilian bodyguards—no less tough because of it, however. Smiling, he said: "May I come in?"

"Sure." Rachel gestured, and he walked inside. The guards did not, taking up positions just outside her door.

He sniffed slightly. Rachel was embarrassed; the stench of alcohol was everywhere. But he did not respond to that. Instead, he made his way to the living room and sat at a couch. Rachel sat down in a seat across from him.

"How you feeling, Rachel?" he asked gravely.

Rachel sighed. "Terrible." She hesitated, then continued: "I've stopped taking the prescription pain medication, because they screw up my mind."

"How's the booze working as a substitute?"

She winced. "Not much better. A lot more pain, for a little more control over myself. It's a fair tradeoff."

Garcia shook his head. "It's _not_ fair. Nothing about what happened to you is fair."

She nodded. "I know." _But what can you do? _It was an effort to keep from breaking down at it all.

"I've already said more condolences to you and your family than you'd ever want to hear, so I won't do it again." That was gratifying. "I'm here because I need your help."

Rachel nodded. "Just give me another week, and I'll be back on my feet litigating cases again—"

"—screw litigation. You and I both know that won't accomplish squat."

For a second Rachel thought the alcohol was having a laugh at her expense. _Screw litigation, that won't do squat,_ she repeated silently to herself. It was an astonishing thing to hear from him. _But the more I think about it, the more I like it!_

Still, Rachel was too cautious a person to dive into something unknown just like that. "Mayor, once we get a new DA, I'm sure we can—"

"—the gloves are coming off, Rachel. The Joker's gone so far over the line, it's open season on him. He's going down. Permanently."

It was almost impossible for her to believe what he was saying. Not wishing to get her hopes up, she continued to be discrete: "Did you make contact with the Batman, ask him to—"

"—Batman's out," he said cuttingly. "Looks like he won't get his hands too dirty, if you know what I mean. So be it. Now he's just an obstacle. If he gets in our way… too bad for him."

Rachel's heart began to leap at his words. _This is too good to be true! _"So, are you suggesting, the police might have an 'accident' when they come across the Joker?"

His face was grim. "If that happens, I'll pin the medal on myself." He leaned in closer. "But you and I know that's not likely to happen. The cops in this town are hopeless. Half of them are on the mob's payroll, and the other half couldn't find the hole in the donuts they stuff themselves with every morning." It was a brutal putdown she occasionally heard in the DA office. In the past she would chide anyone who did so. Now… "We're going to do things on our own. The right way."

"And you want me to help out," Rachel said.

"That's right. We're assembling a handpicked team, professionals. They're going to go out and deal with the problem directly. Anyone who's ever been within a hundred feet of the Joker, we're going to find them and get the answers we need—one way or the other." His face darkened. "Eventually, that will lead us to the Joker. And we'll put him down like the mad dog he is."

She nodded. His words brought back memories of political science classes in college; of death squads and secret police in faraway countries. It was appalling. It was… _intriguing._

And it was potentially worrying. Not because Rachel disagreed—not anymore. But it would be very easy for this to blow up in their faces. She had to test them. In a coy voice, she asked: "What's to stop me from going to the press and blowing the lid on this?"

The Mayor sat back and smiled. "Words are a devalued currency in Gotham City." That was true. "I wouldn't have come here tonight if I didn't have all areas covered." That was also true, and it made Rachel nervous. _There's a dozen break in and murders during a robbery attempt every day. What would one more be? _"But that's just background. I know you won't stop us, because you want to join us. You _deserve_ to be with us." He stood up. "You want payback for the guy who did this to you?" he gestured to the left side of his face, which unlike hers was unblemished. "You want to make our streets safe again? The last guy who thought he could clean up Gotham by the book was a good friend of mine. He was much more to you. You know how that story ended."

_With Batman—Bruce Wayne—going for the girl he secretly wanted, while conveniently getting the competition out of the way!_ A tear flowed down Rachel's right cheek; her hands balled into fists of rage.

He came over and sat down beside her. "Batman won't do it, the police sure as hell can't do it. It's up to us, the concerned citizens of Gotham. We're the only ones who can save our city and eliminate the Joker once for all. You can help us do that." He paused. "Or you can go back next week to work, and spend your 9-5 Mondays-Fridays plea bargaining with hundred-time offenders of drug laws, or watching Maroni's men get off on technicalities. A or B. What's your answer?"

Rachel's mouth quivered; she had never been so angry in her life, so furious with the hopeless state of things. Anything was better than to just sink into despair; she had to act!

"I'm in."

The mayor smiled and patted her thigh. "Excellent. Here's what you do: tomorrow night at 9PM, stand outside your building, and wait for a black Lincoln towncar to pull up to you. The driver's name is Dave. He'll say his name, then ask you for directions to the Show. You tell him it's SouthTown. He'll open the door, and you get in; he'll take you to the HQ." He suddenly dropped down next to him. "Make absolutely sure you're completely alone, that no one follows you. If they suspect anything, they have free reign to deal with you as they see fit. Understand?"

Rachel gulped and nodded. "Good. Once you're at HQ and briefed, you'll be in, but until then, we have to maintain security, plausible deniability." He held out his hand to shake. "You made the right choice, Rachel. I promise you, you'll be well rewarded for your troubles."

"The only payment I want is—" and Rachel proceeded to describe what she wanted done with the Joker's head and certain of his body parts. Reading about war crimes in a class on international human rights in law school, this particular atrocity that soldiers sometimes did with their captives had always stuck in her mind like a noisome slime. Now, she could think of nothing better to do with the Joker when they caught him. _I only hope we catch him alive, so I can see it in person!_

The Mayor's eyes went wide. _Never thought prim and proper Miss Rachel Dawes would say something like that, did you? _she thought nastily. But he then smiled and said: "Couldn't have said it better myself. Remember, 9PM tomorrow. Dave. Southland."

"I will."

Nodding, the Mayor got up and made his way to the door. Rachel escorted him out. Once she was alone, she laid down on her couch, feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks. The prospect of striking back, of getting revenge, was so tempting, so palpable, it brought a sense of quasi-sexual release for her. Cooing with pleasure, Rachel closed her good eye (her left eye had an artificial eyelid attached in place and would remain unblinkingly open for the rest of her life), and began fantasizing about all the extralegal things this 'team' the Mayor alluded to could do for the good of Gotham.

_After all, why should only the bad guys in this town have fun? It's time for some payback!_ And her list was a very long one, indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Rachel Dawes wrapped her overcoat protectively around herself as a brisk breeze swept through the block. It was nearly 9PM. _Almost time._

There were very few people on the streets, and most of them were walking like they were in a hurry to get somewhere. The building she had just came out was nothing special; a large fifteen-story complex of apartments, looking worse for the wear, but actually not too bad on the inside. For the dubious pleasure of two hundred square feet, she forked over almost half her monthly salary. Distant memories of living in Wayne Manor came to mind._ Bruce's bedroom was much bigger than my place; even his closet was almost as big as my little cubbyhole. _

The thought sparked an inchoate fury within her; it was a wholly novel feeling, as she never once had been jealous of Bruce's fortunes before. _That fire burned away lots more than my face; it stripped me of all my illusions._ Now she saw the world in cold, hard terms, and the facts were undeniable as to the gap between them.

_But unlike you, Bruce, I'm going to solve things once and for all. _Her cold calculating rage was such that she almost missed seeing the big black car slowly pull up in front of her. She stepped forward.

A sallow-faced man, whose age and ethnicity was impossible for her to pin down, peaked out of the dark-tinted window. "Evening, ma'am," he said in a slightly accented-voice. "I'm Dave."

A chill ran up her spine. _So it begins._ "I'm Rachel."

"I need directions to the show. Any ideas?"

"SouthTown. It's in SouthTown."

Dave nodded silently. The rear passenger door opened, and without hesitation she stepped inside.

"Evening, Miss Dawes." To her left sat a tall, thin man with thick black hair. "I'm Janos."

"So, did Garcia hire you as well?"

Janos flinched, a deep frown on his face. "Was it something I said?" she asked innocently.

"The way he contacted you was most sloppy. Insecure." Janos' English was perfectly fluent, but like with Dave's (if that was his name), she could detect a trace of accent, Eastern European, perhaps Slavic. _A veteran of the Balkan wars? And massacres? _"It would have been better if one of us had done so."

"But I would never have trusted some unknown figure coming to me and asking what the Mayor asked," she replied. "Am I not right?"

He smiled, but it was chilling rather than reassuring. "Touché, Counselor. Only someone you would trust could have been the contact. I was only critiquing his choice of rendezvous point."

"Well, don't worry, I'm in." She peered out the windows. "What's my role to be?"

"I will brief you when we get to HQ. Don't worry, Miss Dawes, you will not be any physical danger—"

—his condescending words and tone of voice instantly fired Rachel's emotions up. She harshly yanked off her mask, ignoring the pain; it pleased her to hear Janos gasp in shock. "I'm no stranger to violence," she hissed. "If you ever capture the Joker alive, I want to be there when you kill him, because I have a pound of flesh he owes me, and I'm going to cut if off with a knife one tiny bit at a time!"

Janos merely stared at her, his mouth half-open in shock. Then he grinned again. "Of course, Miss Dawes. As you might guess, everyone one this job has plenty of experience in receiving and dealing pain. I see you'll fit right in."

Rachel nodded and sat back. She did not replace the mask, and it pleased her again that Janos was reluctant to gaze upon her for the rest of the trip.

* * *

They drove for almost an hour, winding their way through the cavernous streets of Gotham. Their eventual destination was a shabby, nondescript neighborhood just north of the Narrows.

They pulled up to a small boarded-up building with a first-floor garage. The garage door opened as they approached, and Dave drove them in. Once the door closed behind them, Janos unlocked the doors and stepped out. Rachel followed. As they entered the first floor, Rachel noticed there were several men lounging about—five in total. They all stopped talking and immediately got to their feet as they stepped inside.

"This is Team A," Janos said with an expansive gesture. "There are five teams total, each team rotating in duties between security and active field operations. Me, Dave, and three others are the command team, in charge of planning operations."

"Where do you get your orders from?"

Janos smiled again. "The Mayor and his colleagues are working through a point man of their own. I don't know who it is, but he is completely reliable. Their point man works through a neutral broker, who in turn works with our point man, who you don't need to know."

"Seems rather complicated."

"It's necessary, for security. As you can imagine, the Mayor does not want his hands to get dirty, so he has to work through several intermediaries to hire our services."

"And I'm sure you're being well-compensated for your troubles."

"Of course. One million per week for expenses, plus another million for each target neutralized."

_'Neutralized', he means killed. _"I'm surprised the Mayor trusts you enough to play this game. Seems like you could very effectively blackmail him."

Janos feigned a pained look. "We are professionals, Miss Dawes. We didn't get the reputation we have by double-crossing our clients." He paused. "And besides, it's not just about the money. Breaking heads is not just what we do; it's what we enjoy." Janos said those words in a quiet tone of voice, but Rachel could not ignore the menacing tones by which he said them.

"And what will be my job? I hope I'm not just going to be a pretty face." Everyone in the room chuckled softly.

Janos shook his head. "We have everything we need except information about which targets to strike. After tonight, your day job will be to return to Gotham's DA Office and provide us with information the police and detectives have regarding the Joker and his associates. We'll take it from there."

"And what about evenings? I'm a hard worker, too."

Janos smiled. "I have not forgotten what you said to me in the car ride over here. We will have many targets who will not be terminated immediately, but will require... interrogation. You can help out with that... as well as watch what happens to those who do not comply... or even do the deed yourself, if you wish!"

_Torture._ Despite herself, Rachel shuddered at the prospect. _But it's all for the best..._

"Very well. I'm in, Janos, and you don't even have to pay me. All I want his the Joker's head on my living room wall." The other men guffawed in response; she flashed a crooked half-smile. "You can take me back now, I need to get some sleep before going back to work tomorrow."

Janos' eyes opened in surprise. "I thought you wanted to see us in action?"

"You're going out tonight? I thought you needed me to find out who your targets were."

"We do, but our first target is one our patrons specifically designated to us. You should come, unless you don't want to get your hands dirty after all."

It was very sudden for Rachel, and she was tempted to decline. _But I can't show weakness, not to anyone anymore, certainly not to these thugs. _"Okay, let's go."

"Good. You will be in the car, so no danger, but you will see our handiwork. I promise, you'll be impressed."

"Looking forward to it."

* * *

Rachel and the assault team rode in two different cars that night. It was well past midnight when they arrived at the shabby apartment complex. The car Rachel was in pulled up across the street. By her side, Janos was speaking softly into a radio; it sounded like Russian.

The other car pulled up in front of the building, and four men silently poured out. It was very dark, so she couldn't see too well, but there was something oddly familiar about their appearances. Before she could figure it out any further, they had disappeared inside.

Minutes passed. Then someone contacted Janos on the radio. He nodded, then took off the headset. "Target neutralized. We have ten minutes to inspect before we must leave. Shall we?"

"Okay," Rachel said, her stomach more than a little queasy. They got out and walked briskly towards the building. They took the stairs up to the third floor and walked down a dimly lit hallway. There was a man standing by a door that was ajar. With a jolt, Rachel was shocked to see that the man's appearance bared more than a passing resemblance to the Batman. He was garbed in the same basic black armored gear, gloves, and boots, but without Batman's cape or bat-eared cowl; instead, he wore a combination helmet and mask. Rachel also noticed that, unlike Batman, he was carrying a gun: a submachine gun with a large silencer on it.

"As an added part of your cover, you'll pretend to be the Batman, or at least his agents," Rachel said, trying to keep her voice casual.

"Exactly." Rachel didn't know what to think of this, and realized that now was not the time. Janos stepped inside, as did Rachel. The other three members of the team were silently but rapidly ransacking the dingy apartment. There was a door to the bedroom, which they both entered.

Rachel could not stop a shocked gasp from escaping her lips at the sight before her. On the bed were two naked bodies slumped over each other in death, bleeding profusely from multiple gunshots to their bodies and head. One was a very young Hispanic woman; the other was a middle-aged black man. He looked familiar—

"—That's Councilman Ayers!" Jonathan Ayers, elected from the 15th District. _His nickname is 'The Cleaner', because he cleans money out of all his constituents in exchange for favors._ Rachel didn't know who the woman was, but it obviously wasn't his wife.

"A total degenerate," Janos said contemptuously. "As you can see, he likes his ladies young, younger even than this one." Rachel shifted uncomfortably; the whispers about his predilections were only rumors, but apparently they were true. "Stealing from those who didn't vote for him, and making deals the mob to keep them quiet. Gotham is well-rid of scum like him, don't you think?"

"Uh, sure," Rachel said hesitantly.

Janos glared at her. "Don't get squeamish, Dawes. Cleaning Gotham out is a Herculean task, and we're going to need a lot more blood to wash it clean than we spilled today."

"But she wasn't a criminal, she was just another victim..." Rachel's voice trailed away.

"She would have been a witness," he said coldly. "And what's one more dead whore in the greater scheme of things?"

_Nothing, really._ Rachel sighed; a few months ago, she would have been busting chops to bring the killer of a prostitute to justice. _Now..._ "Killing Ayers isn't all that much in the grand scheme of things, either, Janos. There'll be ten others lining up to take his place by the end of the week."

"Oh, it's even worse than that; my guess is that one of our sponsors ordered us to eliminate him just for that very reason."

Rachel gasped in shock. Janos continued: "We may be hired guns, but we're not stupid either. Bigshots willing to pay millions to kill people won't hesitate to use us to get rid of their personal or business adversaries. Doesn't matter to me."

_But if the politicians and leaders of the community are criminals too, what difference will it make? _As if reading her mind, Janos continued: "First things first. We kill the Joker, and those who hired him: the organized criminals who've choked the life out of your city. The big shots who are doing this don't realize that by getting rid of the underworld's muscle, they'll have no one to protect them in their shady dealings. The good people of Gotham—" he said those words sarcastically, "—will then have a chance to vote better men to office."

It was almost believable. _Almost._ "I'm glad you're so concerned about the welfare of our city," Rachel said in an equally sarcastic voice. "But it'd be easier to believe if you weren't getting millions for your troubles."

"Without those millions, we wouldn't be here," Janos conceded. "And it is more likely that when we're finished, we'll have just cleared the way for others to take over. But if the choice is between fairies like Garcia wetting their beaks, or the Joker..."

Put that way, it was no choice at all. "No complaints from me." She went back into the living room and viewed the assassination team's handiwork. "Very efficient. Your men are messing up the place to make it look like a robbery, instead of a targeted killing."

"Indeed. If the police are half as bright as you, they'll see right through it."

"I doubt it." The others were leaving. "I guess it's time to leave."

"Past time. Let's go." As they got into the cars and drove away, the faint wails of sirens could be heard. _Too little, too late, coppers_, Rachel thought contemptuously.

A police car flashed past them, sirens blazing and lights flashing. _Just like you were too late with Harvey..._

"Do you need a tissue? Your left eye is leaking."

"No, I'm okay. Just take me home."

* * *

"You know what to look for, right?"

"You don't have to say it again—"

"—I'm going to anyway. Remember, we must work down from Maroni, it's his street people who will be closest to the Joker."

"Right. Got it."

"Good luck, and good night." Rachel did not respond. She went straight back to her apartment, threw off her clothes, and went to bed.

_I'm a criminal now_, she thought over and over again. _No turning back. But it's all for the best._ _We'll kill the Joker, and all the other criminals, and it will all be set right._ But as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep, over and over in Rachel's dreams the body of the hapless prostitute appeared. _Her very short and hard life came to a terrible end, merely because she had the misfortune to be with Ayers at the wrong place at the wrong time…_

"Hope there won't be too many others like her," she said softly to the ceiling. She closed her eyes.

_Not likely…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Warning: very mature content in this chapter. Reader's discretion strongly advised._

* * *

"Rachel! What are you doing here?"

"Time to get back to work, don't you think?"

"Oh Rachel, I'm so sorry—"

"It's okay, Lisa, really it is." Rachel proffered a half-smile to her fellow DA Lisa Rosselli. Lisa strode up to her and put her left hand on her shoulder, making her flinch.

Lisa pulled back. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to upset you."

"It's nothing. Can we talk?"

Rachel turned and walked down the corridor, opening the door to a vacant office. After she and Lisa entered, Rachel closed the door.

"What's up?"

"I need to know the latest that MCU has on their mob investigations."

Lisa fidgeted, brushing a strain of her long blond hair clear of her eyes. "Right now everyone is out looking for the Joker and those responsible for killing Dent—"

Without bidding Rachel's left leg buckled, and she momentarily staggered.

"Rachel! Are you okay—"

"—yes, yes," she replied, fighting to keep the rage within. Mildly, she continued. "We know the Joker and the mob are working together. One will lead to the other."

Lisa nodded slowly. "Right, but like I said there's nothing new. If you want, I can call Detective Ramirez and see if she's got—Rachel? Are you okay?"

At the mention of Ramirez's name, Rachel froze in shock; her body began to quiver. _Ramirez! When I came back to MCU after they apprehended the Joker, she came up to me and told me she would have a squad car take me to where Harvey was! _

It was the last thing she remembered before waking up strapped to that chair and surrounded by barrels of gasoline.

"You're looking very pale, perhaps we should go outside?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Can you call Ramirez in?"

"Sure, I'll do it now, hold on." Lisa picked up the office phone and called MCU Special Investigations Unit, asking for Ramirez. After a while she hung up. "Strange, the lieutenant is missing."

"Missing? Do they have any idea where she is?"

"No one knows." Lisa's eyes flicked outward, then she came up close to Rachel and whispered. "Have you heard the rumors?"

Rachel shook her head. Even softer, Lisa continued: "About people on the inside of MCU and even the DA's office being on the take. Guys like Merrett and Wuertz, everyone suspects them, but you never know in this town. Could be anyone."

Rachel frowned, the right corner of her mouth drooping. _Ramirez, Ramirez. _She was only vaguely familiar with her; wracking her brains for information, she was certain there was something…

"—maybe she's at the hospital visiting her mother. You remember the card we all sent her?"

_That's it; I remember now. And I know what to do._ "Of course. I've taken up enough of your time. Thanks again."

"No problem Rachel." Lisa came up to her and hugged her tightly; she struggled to reciprocate. Breaking away, Lisa wiped the corner of her eyes. "We'll get them, don't you worry. I believed in Dent, too." Patting her on the shoulder, Lisa turned and left.

"'We'll get them,'" Rachel repeated softly to the empty room. "Oh yes we will." _And I know exactly how._

Rachel opened her purse and took out another cell phone. "Yes?" came the cold reply.

"I know who to get next. Here's how we'll do it."

* * *

Under a crimson twilight sky, Batman crouched in the shadows cast by two large trucks, waiting for his target. _No more mistakes,_ he reminded himself harshly. _From now on, you have to be two steps ahead._

Minutes later, his patience was rewarded. A short, portly man in a dark grey suit stepped out of a nondescript sedan that had parked by the warehouse, a rusted hulk of a structure down by the Southland docks on the Lower West Side. Three other bodyguards stepped out and escorted him inside. Their movements were quick, their expressions grim. _They know the hunt is on._

When they were inside, Batman checked his surroundings, then stole around to the rear of the warehouse. There was a large gantry crane that towered over the surroundings. He took out his grappling gun and fired at the top of the crane. Once the line was secure, he quickly hoisted himself up, until he was nearly a hundred feet off the ground. The roof of the warehouse was ten feet below him but nearly fifty feet away, too far to jump and too close to glide. Again he rehooked his grappling gun and fired. The first shot didn't take, and he hastened to reload, aware that time was ticking by. The second shot hit true. Fastening the wire to the crane, he took out a pulley and slid down the line towards the warehouse

Once on the roof, he quickly headed towards an exit door in the middle of the roof. Breaking the lock, Batman quietly entered and descended the dark staircase. A floor down, at the end of a corridor there was a door, which he opened. He then found himself on a ledge running around the entire interior of the warehouse, just below the ceiling. Below him were innumerable boxes and crates stacked fifty feet high. There was a large empty space in the center of the floor where light came up from the bottom, and where he could hear some voices chatting.

For the third time he took out a hook and fastened it to the railing. Without making a sound he heaved himself over the side, lowering himself to the ground as a wire spooled out from his utility belt. Landing with a soft thud, he unhooked himself and made his way to the center, flanked on both sides by towering metal crates. From an opening ahead the light grew brighter and the voices louder. At the very edge, he extended a small periscope, built especially for looking around corners. The four men were twenty feet ahead, the three bodyguards with his back to him, while the other was apparently sitting down and facing towards him, but hidden from view.

Batman stowed away all his gear, flexed his hands, then turned the corner and charged at full speed. He hurled himself full speed at the guard in the middle while fully extending his arms to both sides. All three of them tumbled to the ground; the middle guy crashed into the hard stone floor with a sickening crack indicating a broken nose, screaming in agony. The one to his right smashed his head into the floor and instantly went limp, but the man to his left had managed to roll and land on his side. He quickly thrashed beneath him, trying to bring his right hand up. Shifting to his left, Batman grabbed his right arm just before the other man had reached for his pistol, then brutally yanked him to his feet.

The short grey-suited man was right in front of them both, getting up from his chair behind a desk and bringing his own gun to bear. With all his strength Batman threw his guy right into the other man, sending them tumbling to the ground. He leaped forward atop the desk and jumped down on the two of them; stomping downwards, he heard a loud groan as the guard's head impacted sideways on the pavement. Reaching down, he reached down and lifted the other man up and off his feet.

"Evening Fazio. Have a moment?"

Batman barely managed to turn his head and avoid being hit square by a noisome combination of spit and tobacco juice. Unable to wipe his cheek, with anger Batman whirled him about and bodyslammed him onto the desk, smashing it to bits.

"Leave me alone," Sonny 'The Frog' Fazio grunted. "I don't know nothin'!"

"Try again." Batman picked him up and planted him into the chair, kicking it. Fazio and the chair rolled into the side of a crate, causing him to tumble to the grown. Much quicker than one might expect, he got to his feet and turned to run, but Batman overtook him just a few steps later. He spun Fazio around and slammed him into the side of the crate, causing his fleshy jowels to quiver at the impact.

Squinting, Fazio rubbed his spiky white-haired head. "Goddamnit, that hurts!"

"If you don't start talking, your head will be the least of your worries."

Fazio laughed harshly. "Whaddya gonna do, knock my teeth out?" He spat at him again; a set of dentures landed at his feet. "You'd be ten years too late for that."

"Last chance – talk or you'll regret it."

Nearly a foot shorter than Batman, but just as heavy, Fazio looked up at him and smiled. "As long as I ain't dead, I'll take regrets for $100."

"Where's the Joker? Who's backing his play?"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter." Batman belted him in the kidneys, forceful but not all-out, a punch designed to inflict pain but not damage. Grunting, Fazio staggered but got back to his feet almost instantly.

"You stupid cop—"

"—I'm not a cop!"

"—Whatever, you're nothin' but a cop in a snazzier uniform." He rubbed his side, grimacing, then continued. "We gave our money to Lau, and the Joker took half of that. I'm talking tens, hundreds of millions of bucks. None of us can buy him off now, he's the top dog in Gotham now, and the rest of us are either working for him, or hoping he doesn't leave us with a special smile, know what I mean?"

Batman grimly remembered the hideous rictus carved on the faces of the Joker's victims. "Then where is he?"

"No one knows, he's gone to ground after the ferry blew up." Batman couldn't help but wince at the reminder of his failure. "If he don't wanna be found, that's good enough for me."

"Then give me the names of those who worked with the Joker. If you don't know, maybe they do."

"Yeah, rat out the Joker. You're a funny guy Batman, you should do standup at the Badda-Bing—"

Batman kicked him in the groin, turning Fazio into a mezzo-soprano. As he rolled on the ground clutching his crotch in agony, Batman methodically scooped up the guns and wallets of Fazio and his men, then began rifling through the drawers of the mangled desk.

Rummaging through the files, he turned around and punched Fazio just as he was about to hit him with a piece of wood. Fazio tumbled to the ground and moved hardly at all.

Towering over him, Fazio grunted and said: "You ain't got nothin' on us."

Smiling, Batman held out a small disk. "You really should keep these in a safer place."

Eyes widening, Fazio struggled to get to his feet. "You son of a—"

Batman whirled about and roundhouse-kicked Fazio in the stomach. Once again, he dropped to the floor, clutching his midsection and groaning.

He crouched down beside him. "I'm letting you go. I suggest you find out all you can about where the Joker is, and what he's up to. We'll talk again, later."

"Find out where the Joker is," Fazio said. He began to laugh derisively. "Like I said, pure comedy gold."

Batman shrugged. "The first one who helps take down the Joker gets off lightly. Everyone else… not so much. Think it over," he said, turning with a flourish of his cape as he exited the warehouse.

* * *

"I think I'm going to enjoy this."

"Unlikely, you're not a man."

"I can still appreciate even that – at least, from the opposite view."

A pause. "I was just kidding. It won't come to that, it would be… unprofessional."

"Well, we'll see."

At Rachel's side, Janos nodded and turned her attention to the one-way glass. On the other side, surrounded by equipment and tables filled with various surgical instruments and needles, sat Lieutenant Ramirez, tied down from head to toe. One of Janos' men was sitting across from her, smiling and relaxed, while two technicians prepared the various interrogation tools.

Apparently dissatisfied with an answer from her, he signaled to one of the technicians. The technician belted Ramirez in the jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground. He gave her a good swift kick, then pulled her up to a sitting position.

For many minutes the pattern repeated itself, as Janos' interrogator asked questions of Ramirez and, when she either refused to answer or gave an unsatisfying response, the technicians employed various means to encourage her to talk. Gradually her face and clothes became progressively bloodier, but she continued to resist.

"Perhaps it's time for a woman's touch," Rachel suggested.

Janos shook his head. "You can't be involved directly."

Rachel half-smiled. "It won't matter. What happens in Gotham, stays in Gotham."

"I don't understand."

Rachel sighed. "Just let me try. I'm sure…" she paused, gathering her thoughts. "I'm sure she'll get a charge out of me."

Janos frowned, then suddenly his eyes widened with understanding. "Of course."

_Blessed Mary, be with me, _Ramirez said over and over to herself.

Time had lost all meaning as they continued to beat her, inject her with stuff that made her alternately burn and freeze, and forced her head underwater to the point of drowning. She was exhausted, her throat parched dry, and pain dully throbbed from every part of her body, from her half-deafened ears to her singed toes. But still she would not reveal anything. _I have to protect my mother, no matter the cost._

Behind Ramirez, a door opened. "I'll take it from here," came a soft, muffled voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar to her.

Nodding, her interrogator got up and left.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder—a woman's hand. Straining, she turned to see thin pale fingers with clear white nails. "Why won't you help us?"

"I'm a Gotham City police detective," Ramirez said through swollen cracked lips. "I will not submit to criminal scum like yourselves."

"Takes one to know one."

Ramirez did not respond. Her new female interrogator backed off. She said: "Isn't it odd how well informed the Joker was? How he was able to poison Loeb and blow up Judge Surillo? How he was able to kidnap Dent? Almost like he had inside help."

"If he did, it wasn't me."

"So you've been saying for the past two hours." _Is that how long it's been? It feels like two days._

Off to her side, the woman said: "Woman to woman, Ramirez, I beg you, tell us what you know. I don't want them to hurt you any more than is necessary. Please, tell me?"

Ramirez told the female dog what exactly she could do with herself.

"That's not very ladylike," her new interrogator chided. "Not to mention impossible—at least for ourselves it is." Chuckling, the woman was again standing behind her. She leaned over her right shoulder and wrapped a wire around her right wrist, then did so for her left wrist. Ramirez still could not see her face, but she could tell she had brown hair. With a jolt, she realized what was going to happen to her—about the only thing they had not yet done to her.

"Pretty please? No? Very well." _Hail Mary, full of Grace…_

—a terrible surge flowed through Ramirez. Screaming, her back arched, until she was frozen in pain, unable to move, unable to even breathe. Her body shuddered violently, so much she thought she would shake herself to pieces. The torture endured forever; then abruptly it vanished.

Collapsing back in her seat, Ramirez gasped for breath, trying to stop her arms from shaking. Her tormentor spoke pleasantly, conversationally.

"I'm afraid if you don't tell me what I need to know, you are going to die."

"Go ahead and kill me then, I'll never talk."

"You owe me."

"What?"

The other woman quickly walked around and sat right in front of her. Ramirez gasped; it was Rachel Dawes. Only…

"—yes, I'm alive. Barely." Dawes was wearing a thin white blouse and black silk pants. But the left half of her face was covered by a strange dull-white plastic mask, like from _Phantom of the Opera._ The mask did not conceal everything, however; she was bald on the left side of her head, and her scalp was blackened and charred.

"What… what is this…"

"When I came back to MCU after they apprehended the Joker, I wanted to know where Harvey was, that he was alright." Her voice, although still slurred, now sounded the way she remembered. "You came to me and said that they were taking him to a secure location, that you would have a squad car take me there. I remember—I didn't ask you, you asked me. You sought me out, specifically. And the next thing I remember is being strapped to those oil drums."

Ramirez was frightened now, but still did not say anything. "And then this happened." Slowly Dawes reached up and removed her mask. Her face was a horror: blackened, encrusted scars, the skin over the left side of her mouth gone, revealing her bare teeth and jaw beneath, and a stark white eyeball staring unblinkingly back at her. She fought the urge to wretch—and lost.

"You murdered Harvey Dent, the love of my life," Dawes said coldly. "My physical pain is almost as great as my inner pain." She closed in, until they were nearly touching. "Who—gave—the order?"

The only source of strength Ramirez had left was rage; she unleashed it to survive. "Who do I work for? You should ask that of yourself! Torturing cops ain't gonna win you any friends Dawes."

Dawes smiled—a half smile; the left side of her face did not move, a perpetually frozen neutral gaze. "My friends and I have the same goal: find the Joker and his accomplices, and deal with them. Permanently." She backed off. "Tell me what I need to know, and we'll let you live. Or you will die."

"I can only die once, so go ahead."

Dawes' smile became a half-frown. "You know how we captured you, right?"

Ramirez nodded grimly. "My mother's condition became worse, when I found out I tried to sneak into the hospital."

"That was our doing; we knew you went into hiding after Harvey was captured. What better way to lure you into the open than to get the word out that your mother's condition was deteriorating?" She smiled, her soft upturned lips an awful and terrifying contrast to her charred corpse-half. "If you don't tell me, not only will you die—your mother will also."

"No!"

"Yes. For the last time, who hired you?"

Tears streaming down Ramirez's face, she finally relented. "Maroni."

Dawes slapped her. "Maroni didn't kidnap Harvey, the Joker did!"

"It was all about stopping Dent, that's what they told us to do," Ramirez said, sobbing. "Please, I didn't know they were going to try and kill you, I just had to do what I could to save my mother."

Dawes sat down, the expression on the right side of her face cross. "Very well. But know this: I'm going to kill you anyway. And as you die, be comforted by the fact your mother's going to die as well!"

"What?"

Dawes chuckled. "Now that you've seen my face, obviously we can't let you go. Dead women tell no tales and all that." She got up and walked over to the instruments. "And it only seems fair for you to lose the only family you know or have, as added payment for your crimes."

"No, please, don't!"

"Consider yourself lucky; I could have turned you over to my new 'friends' and let them have some fun at your expense before. But I think knowing your dear mama's going to die for your sins as well, that's good enough for me. Good-bye!" She threw the switch.

An indescribable agony filled Ramirez, consuming her body. The last thing she saw was Dawes staring back at her, half-smiling.

* * *

When Ramirez's corpse stopped twitching, Janos entered the room. He walked up to Rachel, who was still standing silently, gazing down at the body.

"I'm impressed, Miss Dawes," Janos said brightly. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"I didn't either," she said softly.

"Maroni," Janos said. "Not surprising, and not very helpful, I'm afraid."

"I know."

"Still, there's no doubt now that you're a vital part of our plans. Your suggestion that we do something to harm her mother worked to perfection."

Rachel nodded silently. Janos continued: "So, shall we carry out your threat?"

Rachel did not respond at first. Then: "No. No, that's alright."

Janos frowned. "Are you sure? It would be very simple. And we don't like to leave any loose ends."

"We already broke into the hospital to unplug her feeding tubes; they've probably increased security. No need to risk any of your men."

"Not getting soft now, are we Rachel?" Janos said bemusedly.

Abruptly her face snapped around; Janos started at the sight of her burnt face. "What do you think?"

Janos was still smiling, but not as much. "I think I agree with you. So, what's next?"

"First, we need to find and bring in Wuertz. I have… I have _special_ plans for him."

Janos whistled low. "Glad I'm not Wuertz."

"Then we still need to keep digging for the Joker's other contacts with the mob."

"Very well, let us know what you find at the DA's office."

"Actually, I was thinking someplace else."

* * *

Although it was the middle of the day, you couldn't tell from where Bruce Wayne was working. Since last night, he had been painstakingly going through the information collected from Fazio and his men. Early in the morning, Alfred came down to the Cave and brought him breakfast, then did the online search for clues while he concentrated on breaking the encryption on the disk.

Beside him, Alfred slowly got up from in front of the computer, stretched and yawned.

"Hanging in there, Alfred?" Bruce said warmly.

"Not as young as I once was, I'm afraid."

"I haven't gotten anywhere, so I'll give it one more try, then we'll call Fox."

Alfred paused. "What about that mobile phone snooping device? It worked before, why not use it again?"

Bruce frowned and turned away. "I made a promise to Lucius. After he kidnapped Rachel again, I told him I needed to use it to find the Joker. He agreed, on the condition that that would be it."

"I understand, Master Bruce, but he's still out there. As long as he is, Rachel will be in danger."

Bruce flinched. "True. But it's academic anyway. The project's down, it can't be used again."

"How so?"

Bruce chuckled. "You can only break so many promises before you're broken. And some promises must be kept."

Alfred could sense he was hinting at more than his dealings with Fox, but Bruce didn't elaborate. "Just so, sir."

Bruce turned around and smiled. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off, I can handle the rest."

Alfred looked offended. "Absolutely not, we've got a job to do, and until it's done—" They were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

Alfred looked at Bruce; Bruce nodded. Picking up the phone Alfred said: "Wayne residence." A pause, then: "Of course, one moment please." He turned to Bruce and said: "It's Rachel."

"Is she okay?"

"Yes sir, she just wants to talk."

_She's not okay then. _Taking the cordless, Bruce said: "Hi Rachel."

"Hi Bruce, hope you're well." Her voice was warm and pleasant, but of course his feelings for her always left a positive bias on his impressions of her. Objectively speaking, her tone was actually… conversational, friendly in a casual way.

_What do you know? _"Is everything okay?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

She sighed on the other end. "I don't think I'll ever be 'alright' again, but I'm managing." Her voice was cool and dispassionate, very analytical. _The truth_.

"Are you at work?"

"Yeah, trying to get back into the swing of things. It's not that easy." She sounded disappointed.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need anything? Anything special?"

Rachel chuckled—a pleasant sound. "Normally, I don't think there's anything I could imagine needing that you couldn't give me. But, not anymore." Bruce's heart sank. "I like hearing from you, always have, but now it's very touching."

"I like talking with you, too, Rachel," Bruce said, his words following immediately after hers.

"Thank you, Bruce, that's so sweet. But I know you must be busy. I'd better let you go."

"No, wait." Bruce's mind raced; a million reasons flashed through his head why he should or shouldn't. _To hell with it._ "Rachel, would you like to come over for dinner? I'm sure you wouldn't mind a chance to get out of Gotham for a bit." _Eek, overdoing it!_

"Bruce Wayne, are you asking me out on a date?" Her voice was cross, but she was probably joking…_probably._

"Not a date, just dinner. And some time to talk."

"Okay, then."

"Pick you up at six, outside the courthouse."

"Alfred doesn't have to do that—"

"—I'll pick you up."

"Bruce, you know that's not prudent."

"Alfred will be busy making dinner. There won't be anything to worry about."

"Alright. Just tell Alfred…"

"…What?"

A pause. "The more soup, the better. Bye." Bruce closed his eyes.

"I take it Miss Dawes will be our guest for the evening."

"Just dinner, old man, so don't get your hopes up."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

Driving a downbeat Bug, Bruce was dressed way below his station when he picked up Rachel. Jeans, sweatshirt, a baseball cap and shades; perfect for a night at the ballpark, not so much for a night at Wayne Manor, even if it was just dinner.

"A billionaire for a chauffeur," Rachel said warmly as she got in. "I could get used to this."

"Well, don't, I prefer my night job." He turned to face her; the half-mask covered the entire left-side of her face, so he couldn't tell how she reacted to his jab.

"Off we go." As they slowly headed west through the outbound traffic, Bruce warily scanned about for anyone following them.

"How's business?" she asked as they reached the OuterBoro bridge that would take them across the Gotham River to the Palisades.

Bruce grunted. "There are, as you know, two answers to that question."

"Right. Wayne Enterprises."

_Good question; _it seemed like an eternity since he last thought about it, the crisis with the Joker having consumed his life for the past month."Still in the black, no investigations pending."

"That puts you ahead of 99 % of all Gotham enterprises."

"I guess that's nothing new," Bruce said abashedly, unable to hide from the truth that his wealth outpaced hers by about five orders of magnitude. _No one else would believe it, but there are times when it's a curse as much as a blessing._ Rachel used to be one Bruce felt would understand. _Now…_

"So what are we having tonight?"

"For you, a six-course helping of the finesse vegetable soup recipes know to man."

"No beef?"

_So much for her vegetarian diet. _"Uh, well, Alfred's making one chicken soup for himself."

"Hope he's made extra. Kinda in the mood for meat."

Bruce said severely: "Rachel Dawes, I'm not exactly sure what you were insinuating by that."

She turned to face him, puzzled. "What?" Suddenly the right half of her mouth opened wide. "Bruce Wayne, how dare you!" She slapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

"Sorry, very immature of me," Bruce said, unable to stop giggling himself.

* * *

"Alfred that was unbelievably incredible."

"You're too kind, Miss Dawes."

"No, Alfred, seriously, that was the best ever."

"Rubbish, I hardly stretched myself making these broths."

"How come you accept praise from Rachel and not me?"

"Because her opinion matters."

They all laughed. Bruce said: "I guess you're right."

Rachel looked at her watch. "Wow, it's past eight."

"Shall I take you home?"

"No silly, I just got here!"

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Unless… you had other plans this evening."

Alfred and Bruce shared a look. "Not tonight."

"Good, then let's relax." She got up from the table. "Where's the ladies' room?"

"Down the hall, third door on the left."

As soon as the kitchen doors closed behind her Bruce said flatly, "Don't even say it. Nothing's going to happen."

"Of course not, sir, she's clearly not interested."

"What? What makes you think that?"

"She hardly said a word at dinner."

"Conversation's not so easy for her anymore." Bruce said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. They certainly had talked, but about growing up, high school, college, and mostly about Alfred's past. But not a word about events since he became the Batman… or after her injury.

He (and Alfred apparently) had carefully not made any effort to steer the conversation, and for whatever reason Rachel had decided not to talk about current events. Following her lead, the night had unwound slowly, lazily, with lots of slurping interspersed with casual, but brief, conversation.

Rachel reentered the kitchen, looking freshened up. "Can I get a tour?"

"Sure Rachel."

"Leave the dishes be. When you come back, I'll have desert on the table."

"Thanks, Alfred."

* * *

The downstairs tour was fairly brief, as most of the interior was empty. The exception was the entry foyer, where there were many paintings hanging—unfortunately, the vast majority replicas, the originals having burned down. Bruce was impressed at how accurate she was in identifying the works displayed, but then, he had specified the arrangements of the house with the idea of recreating Wayne Manor as exact as it was before; the actual contents, in the end, did not matter much.

Alfred had cleared the kitchen table and left trays filled with all sorts of ice cream, sherbets and puddings, daintily decorated with fruit. He said: "If you don't mind, Master Bruce, I wish to retire early tonight. I'll sleep on the couches in the downstairs study room of the west wing." Alfred was currently sleeping in the upstairs guest room down the corridor from his room.

While Rachel had his back to him, sampling the deserts, Bruce gave Alfred a withering stare. _You dirty old bastard,_ he thought and almost mouthed disparagingly… admiringly.

Alfred's reaction was priceless; pointing at his chest with a shocked look on face, he mouthed: _Who me?_ Bruce jerked his head angrily to get rid of him. Smiling all the way, Alfred disappeared down the hall.

Rachel turned to face him. "Where we going next, Bruce?"

"Upstairs. My study is the only furnished guest room in the house. We can sit in front of the fire, listen to some music, watch TV, whatever you like." He smiled. "Very comfy couches."

"Oh, Bruce, you certainly know how to treat a lady," Rachel said. Her seductive tone of voice was a total surprise; the plates of desert almost slipped off as he reached the midway point on the staircase.

"Don't worry, Miss Dawes, I promised your father nothing would happen."

Her response was pleasantly wry. "Yeah, my prom date said that, too. Made for a dull evening."

"On certain nights, the best kind."

"So they say."

They sat on the couch, the deserts on the table in front of them. A fireplace crackled in front of them; to the left was a large projection TV, and to their right were windows looking out onto the grounds. It was dark, a clear half-moon on a cloudless night. From here, one could just see the gleam of Gotham on the horizon, while below the sculpted landscape behind the manor reached out, to merge with the woods in the distance.

"No TV, just some music; light jazz if you have it."

"Singing or not?"

"Not."

"As you wish." He got up to the stereo and tuned to a commercial-free channel. He sat back down, a foot away to the left of Rachel.

"Where you sitting, Bruce?" Rachel said playfully, as she snuggled up to him. Regarding his quizzical look, Rachel said exasperatedly, "We're both adults, we're not doing anything wrong. Come on. Wait a second." She got up and sat to his left. Then she rested her head on his shoulders and reached around with her left arm. "Much better," she said happily.

Bruce looked down at her; her right face was placid, content. She was stroking his right arm; her fingers felt rather rough. Glancing down, the skin on her hand was reddened and wrinkled, and shook slightly while at rest. _Recovering from second-degree burns._

She continued to stroke him; he reciprocated, rubbing her left shoulder. "Mmm, I could get used to this." Bruce did not respond.

For what seemed like ages, they sat there, caressing one another. But neither of them spoke; Rachel was humming softly to the music.

He looked down at Rachel. She was wearing a white blouse, very modest, but from his viewpoint he could look down the curves of her neck, to her chestline, then to… her sleeves were long, with a few faded reddish spots on the cuffs. _Tomato sauce?_ Looking further down, their legs touched side to side, him in blue jeans, her in black silk pants, with simple black pumps. Bruce breathed in deeply. _Perfume—and antiseptics._

_You may never have another chance to do this again_. Bruce closed his eyes and hoarsely said: "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Bruce, I know." He was at a loss for words. Bruce stopped stroking her, as did she. They just sat quietly, the soft jazz music being the only sound besides the crackling fire.

Rachel slowly lifted her head and looked at him. "Will you forgive me?"

"Yes."

Rachel chuckled softly. "All those things I said…"

"They were all true."

She got up vehemently. "No they weren't. I was… angry. I doubted your motives. But I was wrong. I should have known better."

Bruce disentangled himself from Rachel and pulled away. "Like you said, I chose to save you, rather than Dent."

"Because you loved me." Bruce nodded; he didn't have the heart to say 'yes'.

She took his hand. "If I could have had a choice, told you who to save, I would have told you to save Harvey. For Gotham. And for me."

It was the final twist of the knife. Bruce could only grunt a wordless reply of agreement.

She took his hand and put it on her chest. "But that's in the past. I don't want you to feel guilty for your decision, not anymore." Rachel smiled as much as she could. For the rest of my life, the first thing I'll do every day is give thanks that you saved my life."

Bruce was melting in the acid of his shame. But he did not react at all.

"What we both need to do now, is to work together and bring the Joker to… justice."

"Honestly, if I caught him…"

"Shh... Let's not talk about him, not tonight. Like I said, we need to work together. Between the three of us, we'll get the job done."

"Three of us?"

"You, me. And the Dark Knight."

"Oh okay. Thought you were going to say Alfred."

Rachel smiled. "The four of us."

Now Bruce was smiling. "And Lucius. Don't forget Gordon."

She slapped him, very lightly, playfully. "We'll all do it. And then…"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Then what?"

Rachel looked at him quizzically. Slowly, she approached, nuzzling the left side of his face with the right side of his. She planted a soft kiss on his lips. He braced himself not to surge forward, and she put a hand on his chest, but did not break contact. Then she pulled away. And smiled.

"Anything's possible."

Bruce nodded. "Anything's possible."

Rachel snuggled up to him again. "Hold me."

"Of course."

* * *

Time had no meaning—no end, no beginning. Rachel was lying across his lap, gazing up at the ceiling. At him. As often as she could, Rachel had her head turned to her left side, sparing him the sight of her ruined face. For hours they remained that way, soaking in the pleasure of their not-too-intimate contact.

Bruce glanced at a clock. "It's half-past eleven," he said sleepily.

Yawning, Rachel finally lifted herself from Bruce's lap. "I need to take my medicines."

"Here, let me help." At first she went rigid, resisting. Bruce was about to back off, but then Rachel relaxed. Digging into her purse, he took out three small pill bottles, and unscrewed them. She unscrewed two more, then began shaking pills into her hand and swallowing them, taking a drink of water with each. Bruce watched, although he wanted to turn away.

After she finished, Rachel slowly got to her feet. Bruce took her by the arm. "I'll take you home."

"Bruce, can I sleep over instead? In a few minutes, I'm going to be really wobbly. I'd rather not ride in a car if I didn't have to."

Bruce looked at Rachel with a steady gaze. "The line between the appropriate and the inappropriate can be very fine."

Rachel closed her eyes and nodded, almost in an exasperated manner. "Bruce, you have the training and discipline to be the Batman, but you can't trust yourself to keep your pants on if an old female friend of yours is sleeping in the room next door?" she said wearily. "If you think so little of yourself, then don't worry; I won't give you the opportunity to fall to sinful female temptation. Let's go."

She began heading for the door, her gait somewhat unsteady. "Rachel, wait."

"No, no, better safe than sorry." She staggered some more, grabbing the door to keep upright, but she swayed ominously.

Bruce came up behind her and held her secure. "The guest room is just down the hall."

Rachel snickered. "What, you're not even offering to give me your bed instead? I guess chivalry really is dead!"

"For your information, the guest bed is double king-size."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah yeah!" They looked at each other gravely; then they broke down in laughter. Bruce held his arms open, and Rachel gratefully fell into his warm embrace.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," Rachel said warmly.

"Me too." With an extra spring in her step, Rachel quickly walked down the corridor to the guest room.

As they walked in, Rachel exclaimed: "It's huge!"

"So is the bed." Rachel slapped at air. Bruce brought an extra pillow and gave it to her.

Rachel plopped down on the bed. "One last night of peace, then back to the war."

"Peace is always one dream away."

"And on that happy note, good night Bruce."

Rachel offered her right hand, smiling. Bruce took it and kissed it, grinning from ear to ear. "Good night to you too, my lady."

She fell back on the bed, rolling onto her right side. "Turn off the lights when you leave?"

As Bruce reached the door, the lights winked out. Without another word, he closed the door.

* * *

_What was all that about? Nothing, just a shared evening, to relieve the stress. Nothing more, nothing less._

"If that's true, why can't I fall asleep?" Fumbling for the lights, Bruce groaned and sat up. He hadn't even bothered to change; as soon as he got back to his room, he had just turned off the lights and laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, not knowing up from down.

_Very weird night. _At times it was a like they were ten years old and having a sleepover, it was so fun and innocent. Other times… as if they were in the shadow of death, waiting for sentencing. "Pick a number between zero and infinity." _That's how many different things I seemed to feel and think about._

_Anything's possible. _

"Bleah." _Keep this up, and you'll forget you're the Batman. _Another thought came to him of what this night was like: it was as if they were a super-old married couple, no longer driven by the lusts of youth, just enjoying a night alone together, after a long life where their triumphs and regrets had almost faded from memory. _It's all good. With a friendship like ours, anything can be dealt with._

That was a happy note on which to close things out. Those carnal thoughts that had pulsed silently all evening, rising close to the surface as they got close-but-not-too-close, seemed… not crazy, not inappropriate… just… _weird._ Not tempting or even scary; just odd. _Something strange and powerful is a catalyst of fear; something odd and cute—like what he shared with Rachel tonight—could never be scary._

Bruce smiled as he enjoyed that most rarefied of experiences lately: relief. _Relief from lust, relief from fear. And relief from guilt__—_the overwhelming shame he had for all the ways he had failed her and everyone else. That was the most important thing of all.

Sleep rapidly crept up on him; Bruce turned off the lights and prepared to return to the land of dreams.

* * *

Bruce snapped his body into the air and landed on the floor with both feet, crouched and ready. _Back to the war._

A slim figure stood silhouetted against the dim light from the corridor. The lights came on and the figure entered his bedroom._ Rachel._

She stood before him in a royal-blue bath robe. It was several sizes too big, but not so large as to conceal her lack of clothing underneath.

Rachel closed the door behind her as Bruce eased back into a normal stance. She took a step towards him; he took a step back. There was a dazed look of wonder on her face.

He cocked his head to the side. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head. "No."

Their mouths crushed together first, forming kisses fierce in intensity and urgency, teeth sinking into tongues and lips, skin; hard plastic. Rachel threw her head back as Bruce nuzzled her bare neck, his stubble rubbing up and down, grazing and tingling her skin.

Bruce pulled back; with his left hand he pushed Rachel's head back towards him. He stared at her wide-eyed, while her right eye and mouth hung lazily half-opened. In a wild spinning motion, they ended up sprawled across his bed.

Rachel tried to get atop Bruce, but he grabbed the front collars of her robe and pulled her across him; an instant later he was the one straddling her. Fearfully, she looked down; the hem of the robe was tangled and halfway between her knee and thigh. As fast as he could Bruce began removing his clothes: first the sweatshirt, T-shirt, jeans, socks. Rachel unwound herself; she spread her legs, bringing her left knee up as high as she could, while her right leg pointed straight down. She lifted both arms, palms-up, as if surrendering to the police, breathing rapidly.

Now only in his boxers, Bruce propped himself up with his left arm while he grabbed the waistband of her robe. Before pulling he looked directly at her, nodding questioningly; Rachel nodded back. He tugged hard and her robe spilled open. He dropped himself down on her, forcing the air out of her with a grunt. Bruce's mouth was again on Rachel's as they grinded together, her legs snapping shut around his torso. He reached down to her chest and squeezed; a breathless cry escaped her mouth. Bruce brought his other arm down and grasped harder.

Rachel then brought her arms up and pushed against his chest, straining with effort. For a moment Bruce would not relent; finally he pulled away and looked down at the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

Panting, he gasped: "Last chance. No turning back."

Her lips curled into a snarl. "Take me, have me." Bruce reached down and wormed his way clear. Boldly Rachel flung her robe fully open, sliding her arms out of the sleeves.

Nothing covered their glistening bodies now. Bruce was about to, when Rachel suddenly cried out: "Wait, stop!"

He barely stopped in time. "What, what?"

Wiping sweat from her bow, Rachel bit her lip, then slowly she reached up and began to unfasten the mask over the left side of her face. Before Bruce could respond, Rachel flung it to the floor, and once again he beheld her ruined form.

Bruce deflated, in more ways than one. "Rachel?"

"I'm sorry, darling," she said tearfully, reaching up to caress his cheek. "But when we do, I don't want anything between us."

Bruce said nothing, did nothing. Rachel then got up and fully pressed her body to his. She shook her head side to side, rubbing as much of her face as she could against his. Bruce stiffened with distaste at the rough scraping of Rachel's scars against his face, but as he sank once again into the sweetness of her embrace, it became nothing at all.

"Yes?"

"Yes, yes!"

And Bruce Wayne and Rachel Dawes became one.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Warning: mature content below, reader discretion advised._

* * *

…_She writhed beneath him, abandoning herself completely to the act of love. Right eye tightly closed, her mouth hung open, warmly smiling in pleasure and acceptance. With a violent movement her body shifted—_

_ —a blackened horror was beneath him, as the naked eyeball stared back at him, accusatory. The charred and exposed tendons holding her jaw together quivered, and the left side of her mouth trembled; he was locked in the embrace of a laughing corpse—_

Bruce snapped upright, gasping for breath. Immediately he forced himself to calm. Minding his surroundings, a gray shadow filled the bedroom and hung over the darkened grounds beyond; dawn was but a few hours away. And to his left—

"Rachel," he said softly, reverently. She lay supine, her head turned to her left, mercifully masking her injuries from his view. He gently brushed away a lock of her hair that covered her face.

Bruce lay back, staring up at the ceiling. _So what does this all mean?_

Reflexively he looked back at Rachel. Her head had shifted in sleep; now it was her good side that was hidden, while her ravaged face stared back at him. Especially her left eye—the grey iris lost in the immense whiteness of her eyeball. An unblinking, unchanging orb, seemingly glowing in the darkness.

Bruce turned away, closing his eyes. _Be careful what you wish you for; you may get it…_

"Hmph." _What an awful thing to think! _Bruce chided himself; after all Rachel had suffered at his hands, despite all that she came to him, willingly, and gave him the opportunity to love her. And here he was, repaying her generosity and love with, with…

_Suspicion?_

To say it released it; a disquieting voice whispering from within. _Just a few weeks ago she wished I was dead—more than that, she hoped I'd suffer the rest of my life with the guilt of letting all those people on the ferry die. And then, a while later, she told me she wants to see the Joker dead. _Afterwards, he had dismissed it—it was an obvious overreaction, based on her injuries and grief from Harvey's death. _Ironically, I also rejected the possibility of being with Rachel, precisely because I had failed her and Harvey. _

Whether she would believe him or not, he truly had no intention of making any moves on her last night. _We were in the right place at the end; everything patched up, friends again. Moving on from their painful past, to the most important thing in the near-term: stopping the Joker. It was all good, no worries—_

—until she seduced him. Or he seduced her. _We just gave in and did it. Right?_

_Wrong—she came to him, and not for a late-night game of chess. _It was impossible to forget Rachel standing there, how her curves filled out his robe… _Once the fire started, we burned to the ground, but she lit the match first._ It was all—out of place.

_She had a change of heart—but why? _Bruce considered, but no rational explanation could come to mind. _Rachel wouldn't tell me she hated me unless she meant it; I finally earned her pardon, but no denying she was ashamed of me all those years ago._ His cheek still tingled at the memory of her slaps. _If she was telling the truth, and willing to be with me after the Joker was caught—or killed—why would she jump the gun?_

"Because you're a hell of a catch, Bruce Wayne!" He mouthed it silently, because having heard it all too often, saying it himself was a special embarrassment. _She either gave in to her desires, or it's all part of some sinister scheme to get back at me._ Now that he voiced his fears, he couldn't help but laugh. _Exactly, Rachel's gone Mata-Hari on me, trying to seduce me with her feminine wiles. Once she pulls out of me the secret of where the Joker is, she'll kill him with her bare hands. And then take care of me!_

Bruce laughed scornfully at the absurdity of it all. He looked back at Rachel; her 'bad' side continued to stare back. He didn't turn away.

The intensity of the light coming in was noticeably greater than before. She rolled her head back, so that her face was level. The light played across her face, and her face twitched. Suddenly with an unnerving swiftness she instantly awoke, startling him. "Good morning, Bruce." Her voice sounded dehydrated.

"Morning Rachel." Smiling, he leaned over to kiss him. She then laid on back, her good side turned to him.

"So we finally did it." She smiled, as much as was possible for her.

"All I can say is—thank you."

"No need to thank to me. I really needed that."

"Anything else you might need?" He drew closer.

She looked past him. "Oh! It's after 5:30, I'm need to get back to Gotham."

The moment passed. "Let me get dressed; I'll take you home."

"Not Alfred?"

"Heck no—I need to get you out before he wakes, or I'll never hear the end of it."

Rachel smiled. "Okay." She slowly rose and began to put on her robe. "What're you up to today?"

"Some meetings at Wayne Enterprises, an appointment with the Mayor."

"How about tonight?"

Bruce paused. "Late night business."

She smiled. "Care to let me know what?" Her voice was playful.

Bruce returned the smile. "Ah, I don't think so. Sorry."

"Come on, we're partners!" Bruce did a small double-take. "I need to know where to focus our investigative resources. We don't want to be stepping on each other's toes out there."

"I'll be sure to keep clear. Easier that way."

Rachel was silent for a while. When she spoke, her tone was gentle: "Okay. I was hoping you and I could work together the way you, Harvey and Gordon worked together. But perhaps it's better this way—"

"—Sonny Fazio."

"The Frog?"

Bruce chuckled. "I see his reputation precedes him."

"We had him pegged as a relatively low-tier guy among the Families. Why the particular interest?"

"Because he's out and about. Relatively speaking. I've got my eye on him and his men."

Rachel considered his response, then nodded in understanding. "Maroni and all the other top-dogs, they've gone to ground."

"Scared to death either of the Joker, or the police."

"Which means those feeling freer to walk in the light—"

"—are more likely to have contacts with the Joker than the others."

"You really are the world's greatest detective."

"I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Rachel came up to him and kissed him. "You're great at both, I can now speak from personal experience."

Her words suddenly opened a space in his heart. Stroking her chin, he said: "You really should stay out of danger. Until we get him."

Her voice was hard. "I'm not afraid. He can't hide forever."

Bruce nodded. "God help him when you catch him."

"Exactly. Now if you'll give me a moment, I'll get dressed." She left his bedroom. Minutes later, Rachel returned fully clothed, looking no different than last night, although her lipstick was fairly smeared.

Bruce quietly led her downstairs. By now Alfred was usually well underway with making breakfast and doing morning chores. There was no sign of activity anywhere. _Alfred, you glorious bastard, you!_

They drove back into Gotham in silence. When he got to her place, Rachel quickly got out of the car as he pulled up across the street from her building. "You be careful tonight, Bruce."

"You too, Rachel. Bye."

"Bye."

* * *

Rachel sat on the floor of her shower as warm water streamed down upon her. Despite having soaked and scrubbed herself for over an hour, she could still feel the stink and slime of Bruce Wayne coating her.

_Yet, it's strange how calm I feel. _Now that it had happened, it seemed oddly…detached. She remembered the intensity and vividness of the experience, yet the more she focused on them, the greater the mental distance between her current self and those memories became. In her mind, she could almost play them back as if they were a videotape—from many angles and speeds. It helped her analysis and understanding of the encounter, while lessening the emotional impact.

Overall, from beginning to end Rachel judged her mission to be a success. Although she couldn't possibly claim to understand Bruce Wayne completely, she knew him well enough to know that guilt had a powerful hold on him personally. If she was going to get Bruce to sleep with her, she had to ease his feelings of responsibility for her injuries and make him feel comfortable in her presence again. Everything she did last night was designed to give Bruce an opening for him to take the initiative in making her feel better, and it worked to perfection: from stirring him to inviting her over for dinner, to picking her up, to offering to let her sleep over. _If I had sought him, it would have been easier for him to decline; each time I accepted Bruce's offer to help, it made him feel better about himself, softening him up for the final blow._

The hardest part was being patient enough to spend all those hours in his company, be it at the kitchen table, walking the mansion, or sitting on the couch, without betraying either boredom or agitation. _Nothing harder than doing nothing—especially when you're lying in the Devil's lap and pretending to enjoy it. _And the second hardest part was the final step. _I guess I did my job too well—instead of making his move after kissing my hand, he decided to play the chivalrous gentlemen._ Rachel's stomach heaved at the memory of him calling her 'my lady.'

_ I had to make the last move after all, even after I thought I had him charged up enough that he should have exploded. _Instead, she lay in a cold sweat on that bed for almost two hours, before she mustered enough courage to strip down and offer herself to him. She scowled at the memory. _Not courage—_pain. _I scratched at the edges of my face until I was almost spitting blood. _But while physical pain drove her to Bruce's bedroom, emotional pain slowed her steps. _Each step I took towards his bed was another dagger in Harvey's love and trust. _The look of pain and disbelief on Harvey's face as she carried out her plan left her heart in step forward she did: for justice. For revenge.

_As for the act itself, the less said the better._

Rachel felt—indirectly—the water flow through her exposed jaw, dripping out from her lower jaw. Bruce didn't know it yet, but he would pay for what he did to Harvey and her. _First, I'll kill the Joker—slowly, painfully._ _Then…_

…_then go back to Bruce?_ Try as she might, Rachel could not block out the positive aspects of last night. _So gentle, so tender—so honest? _She shook her head. _No, not honest—quiet. _That was the greatest contrast between Harvey and Bruce. _Harv was a screamer; Bruce was quiet, very quiet. _Unlike Harvey's repeated—and loud—'Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!', Bruce stole up on her like a thief in the night, finished almost before she knew he started. _Well, not like a thief—like a Batman._

The water continued to fall; she remained still as a stone. _I love Bruce; I hate Bruce. So what do I do?_ Rachel sighed and slowly got up. _I'll kill him after breakfast._

* * *

At the DA's office, things were today as they were yesterday: dull, repetitive, futile. Rachel sat down at her desk, but she couldn't stand it. Barely able to keep herself from exploding with anger and disgust, she promptly got up and left the office.

A half-hour later, she was down at MCU. _Walking into the lair of the enemy. _Crews were still putting things together after the Joker's people bomb, so there were only a few cops and detectives about. Heads turned her way as she walked through the halls. _No wolf-whistles this time; all of them are staring at my burned face. But what are they feeling—disgust? Contempt? Sympathy?_

A shabby detective came up to her with a weak smile. "Morning, Miss Dawes."

His name escaped her. "Good morning, sorry…"

"—Douglas, Michael Douglas. And no, no relation," he said.

"Could have fooled me." He looked just like the famous actor, except for his hair, eyes, nose, mouth, skin and teeth. "Sorry, any luck finding Wuertz?"

Douglas shook his head. "His place is empty, when we asked his friends and family, all one of them could say is that he's 'on vacation'."

"But he's been called for questioning regarding Harvey—Dent's kidnapping." She cleared her throat. "How could he just leave?"

"I don't know. But it wasn't a warrant or a subpoena, so technically he's free to go."

She came up close to him and put a hand on his shoulders; Douglas flinched. "Do you think he defected to the mob?"

Eyes widening, he shook his head. "No, no way. He's worth ten times more with the badge. My guess is, he's laying low, and waiting for the wind to blow another way. Then he comes back all nice and clean."

Rachel gritted her teeth. _Once the Families get clear of any association with the Joker, the protection money will flow again, and everything goes back to where it was before. _Maybe Bruce could stop it, but then again—

"—keep me in the loop, Lieutenant."

"Of course. Please excuse me." He hurriedly left.

_Probably off to warn Wuertz off himself, _she thought sourly. It was no use; until they rooted out all the cops on the mob's payroll, the police would be worse than useless. Rachel turned to leave, but before she could exit she was stopped.

"Miss Dawes, a moment?" A young police officer had stopped her; his face was so fresh and eager, so innocent, it almost made her laugh.

"Of course, Officer—"

"Kristos, Constantine. Everyone calls me 'Constant'." He smiled brightly, a puppy loose in a den of rabid hounds.

"How can I help you, Officer—Constant?"

His face suddenly became sober. "Follow me," he whispered. Tugging on her sleeve, he led her outside. "I'll take you back to the DA's office."

They headed round back and got into a squad car in the police parking lot. As they entered the morass of Gotham traffic, he began speaking: "I think I know where Wuertz is."

Keeping her voice level, Rachel responded: "Where?"

"64th Precinct Station, in Central West." He looked nervously to and fro, as if expecting to be overheard.

Rachel understood what he was suggesting, but was still confused. "I know there's tons of Gotham City cops on the take," she said matter-of-factly, making Kristos wince. "And the DA office is well aware of the rumors that certain police stations, and precinct areas, might as well be local mob headquarters. But Central West is the cleanest, richest, and crime-free neighborhood of the City. Seems unlikely."

"Commissioner Gordon may think he runs the police from City Hall, but those in the Force who think otherwise run it from CW. Two-bit cops who extort standowners may freelance, but everything else is cleared through there."

"Aren't you breaking a Code, officer?" Rachel asked gently.

Kristos frowned; he still looked cute. "Yeah, but they broke it first. The Joker killed some of my buddies, that ain't ever happened before. Cops get a cut, the wise guys get a free hand, neither of us shoot the other, just those getting in the way of business. That's the way it's supposed to work." He paused. "The guys on top crossed the line when they let the Joker loose, we gotta stop them."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And you think Wuertz is hiding out there?"

"I don't know, but if he's anywhere in Gotham, he's there. The only other possibility is the mob, but they'd be the first to whack him."

Rachel was silent, lost in analysis. "Alright. Tonight, I'll go there and flush him out."

Kristos' eyes bulged with astonishment. "You can't, they'd make you disappear without a second thought!"

"That's so sweet of you," Rachel said. "How about you come with me?"

"They'd make me disappear—"

"Constantine, you know there's a million dollar reward for information about the Joker and those responsible for murdering Harvey Dent. Come with me, and you'll get it all."

"I don't know—"

"—that's not all you'd get," she purred. With some difficulty, she began slipping down the left side of her blouse, so that her shoulder and left cleavage was exposed.

"I'd be very, very, _very_ grateful," Rachel cooed, stroking Kristos' right cheek.

Swallowing, he nodded. "Alright. Best to be there before eight, we don't want to face the night shift, if you get what I mean."

_On the contrary._ "We'll be there at 7:30. Don't worry, I'll get a SWAT team from New York, no bent cops to spoil things."

"Got it. Where to now?"

"Midtown, on the Narrows side."

* * *

Bruce was all false smiles as he weaved his way through the throngs of Gotham's elite. There were hundreds of them, all in sharp business dress, making their way into the main dining of hall of the Commonwealth Club, one of Gotham's richest and most exclusive society halls. This afternoon's luncheon was a fundraiser—what made it intriguing was the purported and ulterior motives for that fundraising. Officially, he and everyone else was here to help raise money for the battered Gotham Police Department in its ongoing hunt for the Joker and the remaining mob bosses. _Unofficially, it's a reelection campaign stop for Mayor Garcia and all the other pols._ It made Bruce wince to know that, in all likelihood, Harvey would have been here, if only…

As he engaged in banal chatter with his fellow uppercrust, Bruce's mind kept going back and back to Rachel. _Too early to start planning the wedding._ Yet now that they had both taken that irrevocable step forward, a powerful force within kept driving him to walk away from it all. _I could leave the Batman behind, she could quit the DA's office, and we could have a life together. _It was a sorely tempting vision of their future, but in the end…

_ …before I can hang up the cape, I have to bring the Joker down, and I have to make sure all that Harvey worked for is not lost. _The signs on that front were worrisome: more and more mobsters were being released, and it was only a matter of time before they got back in control and put Gotham back under their thumb. _Well, when they do, I can beat them, bring them down again. But the Joker is a threat to us all._ Bruce knew he was a force that _couldn't _be beaten down with his fists. _But he can be stopped—he's just a man, after all._

Almost without him noticing, Mayor Garcia, dressed in a swift black suit almost as cut as his own, had approached his table. "Afternoon, Mr. Wayne," he said warmly, offering his hand.

Bruce shook it firmly. "To you too, Mayor."

"You got a minute, Bruce?"

"Of course." Excusing himself, he got up from the table and followed the mayor, who led him to a small banquet room adjacent to the hall.

Closing the door behind him, Bruce asked: "How can I help?"

Smiling, Garcia said without missing a beat: "Ten million dollars, no questions asked."

"Two million, but I need some answers."

The Mayor chuckled softly. "Bruce, this is Gotham. Gotham Rules, remember?"

"I wish I could forget."

"Me too. But your money will help change things for the better."

Bruce cocked his head, squinting and smiling as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "Reelection's not for another three years. Need to be careful not to pull out too many apples, too often."

The Mayor's smile finally faded. "You may not believe me," he said softly, "but it's not for me."

"Well, the Presidential election is next year, so come January you can call the National Party and—"

"It's not about politics, it's about Harvey. And Rachel."

Bruce blinked to remove some moisture from his eye. "To Dent, may he Rest in Peace."

Garcia nodded. "We're going after the Joker, but things are a bit delicate."

"Let me guess, don't know who to trust in the police, right?" Bruce said with as little bitterness as he could.

"Yeah, we still don't know how the Joker did it. Best guess is the mob let him use his contacts, never knowing what he had planned. But that's beside the point. Point is, if you have to get something done, sometimes you have to do it yourself."

"Get what done?"

"The Joker." He made a silent throat-slashing gesture, which appalled Bruce.

"And what are you—we—going to do about him?"

Garcia did not respond. "Ten million, no questions asked?" The Mayor nodded. "If I give you the money, what say do I have?"

"Nothing. Which is best for your protection, as things might get… a little rough."

"I don't know whether I should be outraged or impressed," Bruce said casually.

"Now Bruce, we all know that because you and your friends—"—he pointed out to the main hall—"have all the gold, you get to make the rules. Sometimes you give to Party A, sometimes to Party B, but either way, you get taken care of." The comments stung, but they had the bitter ring of truth. Bruce said nothing, Garcia continued: "And sometimes, well, let's just say the mob ain't exactly Robin Hood; their guns usually don't point uptown, get my drift?"

_Rich people in Gotham make a tacit agreement with the underworld to keep the unwashed masses at bay; Falcone hinted as much. _"But things have changed. The Joker broke all the rules, and because the wise guys picked him to be on their team, they've overstepped."

"Is that what the money's for? To put them back in line?"

Garcia did not answer, but he did smile. "Nothing in writing, our hands are clean."

"And our money?"

"Cleaner. No one will know who gets it, and if you keep your mouth shut no one will even know you're missing it."

"All-cash deals." Bruce chuckled mirthlessly. "'Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster.'"

"Stare into the abyss and the abyss stares at you," Garcia replied impatiently. "Yeah, I remember Nietzsche from college too. Don't tell me in the past you haven't been willing to roll up the sleeves and take care of things yourselves, right?"

"Of course." Bruce reached out to shake his hand. "I'll let you know before I leave."

"Gotham's counting on you, Bruce. I know you won't let me down."

"Mayor." Bruce shook his hand and returned to his table.

* * *

In the cool evening air, Rachel stood nervously across the street from Precinct #203 Gotham police station at the corner of 11th St. and Pemberton Avenue in Central West Gotham. The neighborhood was filled with sleek midrise towers housing investment banks and legal offices, with immaculate streets devoid of potholes. Even the police building itself was an attractive structure, six stories high and shining brightly from lights protruding from every floor.

Dressed in conservative attorney garb Rachel only stood out as a result of her half-face mask, but by and large the people on the street ignored her. Representing the tail end of the daily workforce finally heading home for the night, the streets were rapidly emptying and traffic was dwindling to a trickle. She checked her watch: 7:30. _Showtime._

It took considerable effort for her to convince Janos to make a raid on the police station to search for Wuertz, who was eager to begin large-scale operations against the mob. Rachel finally convinced him by saying she had learned of a likely contact of the Joker's in the underworld from a highly confidential source, but would only divulge it once Wuertz was eliminated. She scowled. _This had better be worth it!_

Janos had said nothing of what was being planned, except to be here tonight. Rachel had informed them that she had second doubts about her presence, that it might give away the operation. Clear as a bell she remembered his chilly response: "It won't matter."

A Gotham police car came down the street and stopped at the corner next to her. Officer Kristos came out and said: "Good evening, Miss Dawes."

"Same to you, officer."

He looked speculatively at the precinct office. "Looks quiet."

"Yeah." Rachel suddenly felt uneasy. _I shouldn't be out here, I'll compromise security, Janos be damned. _Without another word she suddenly turned and walked away.

"Wait, where you going?" Kristos followed after her. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know," she responded, still walking.

Kristos now ran her down. Grabbing her right arm, Rachel whirled about. "What?"

"There's something not right, I think we should—"

–Before he could say anything else, a man in a business suit who was walking in the other direction suddenly dropped his briefcase and came up behind Kristos. Immediately he gurgled and clutched frantically behind him; to her horror Rachel saw that the man in a suit had garroted Kristos, a bright red line growing and darkening across his neck. Without another sound his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped to the ground. Right after he fell the man in a suit grabbed her and crossed the street.

"Wait, what are you doing—"

"Quiet!" Instantly Rachel was quiet. They turned into an alley. She gasped: it was Janos, but he had been unrecognizable as his normally messy hair had been combed into an impeccable do.

"Why did you kill him?" Rachel suddenly felt sick.

"No witnesses."

Rachel was still horrified, but nodded. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ She peered around the corner; nothing was happening, not even with Kristos lying dead on the sidewalk. "Are you going to mount a raid on the police station?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

"How—" A thunderous explosion echoed through the district. Rachel gazed in awe as the doors to the front lobby of the station blew apart. As she continued to watch, she could see bright lights streaking towards the rest of the building from multiple angles. _Missiles!_ Floor after floor exploded, glass shattering and spraying across the road. The few people about screamed and fled, while cars either rushed away or crashed into each other. More rockets flew into the burning structure; finally with a final thunderous clap the building collapsed in upon itself.

"Let's go," he said harshly, as they exited and walked away. Turning the corner, a car was waiting for them; they got in.

"Back to HQ. Hope you're ready, we have a busy night ahead."

"What do you mean, you destroyed that station, everyone inside is dead!" Rachel shuddered at the incomprehensible brutality of it all.

Janos' phone rang. He answered it and said: "Good, bring them all in." Janos smiled. "We have him."

"Wuertz? How?"

"We studied the blueprints of the station. Checking with city records, it was obvious that there was a hidden tunnel, leading from the basement of the station to the basement of another building at the end of the block."

"Ahh," Rachel said, understanding. "That's how they could use this station as a secret mob headquarters; no one would see people coming and going."

"Exactly. I had a squad of men waiting at the entrance. After the first explosion they started coming through. Eight came before building collapsed. We killed three, captured the others. Wuertz was the first to be captured."

"Not surprised," she said darkly, "he'd be the first rat to flee." Rachel turned to look back; the first police and firetrucks had arrived. "How many men and women were in that building? How many good cops?" she said softly to herself.

"Too bad for them." Janos yawned and stretched in the backseat. "I expect you'll be busy tonight."

"Yes." _We have Wuertz! _She straightened. "Very. Burning the midnight oil, I imagine."

* * *

"Ahhhh! I didn't mean it!"

"What?"

"They, they had me by the balls, I had to do what they say!"

"How much did they pay you?"

"Nothing, nothing, it was give me Dent dead or alive, or you'll be dead."

"You talked to the Joker?"

"No, it was Maroni, he paid me—ahhh!"

"I though you said you weren't paid?"

"I wasn't I wasn't!"

"That's enough for now. Unhook him."

Two other men began removing the electrical wires that had been attached to every part of Wuertz's sweating naked body: his wrists, ears, toes, private parts. Shackled to a wall, he was squirming like a trapped pig, his face so red Rachel thought he would sweat blood. To his left and right hung the four bodies of his colleagues, whom she had taken special care to kill as painfully as possible before dealing with Wuertz.

Rachel had removed her mask and strode up to him, facing Wuertz directly. "What are we going to do with you?" She turned her head so that the left side of her face filled his vision. "What should we do?"

Shivering violently, Wuertz swallowed hard, but a trickle of blood still dribbled out the corner of his mouth. "Ask me anything, I'll tell you anything you need to know!"

Rachel was not amused. "You already have, and your information is worthless. Where is Maroni?"

Wuertz didn't say anything; his eyes bulged. "The Majestic Hotel, he has a pad there, that's where he must be."

She shook her head. "Even the police knew about that, it was the first place we looked. Anyplace else?" He looked even more frantic, but all that came from his lips were babble. "Save it." She got up and picked up a bucket.

"What, what are you going to do with me?"

Rachel smiled sweetly, seductively. "I'm going to give you a bath." She took the mop and dipped it into the bucket. Thick gelatinous fluid dripped down from it. She then bent down and began gently swabbing Wuertz's feet.

"Do you know how I got this injury?" Rachel said conversationally. "After you and Ramirez turned us over to the Joker's men, they had both of us tied up in a room filled with barrels of gasoline." She began swabbing upwards. "All of them wired to explode. The Batman got me out, but not before I caught some." She gestured to her face, then swabbed his belly. "Harvey wasn't so lucky; he burned." She swabbed until every part of his body beneath his neck was coated.

"Jesus, what is this? Is that—"

"—they burned him, blew him to bits, nothing was recovered," Rachel said, unable to hold back tears. "You killed him, just because you were on the take."

"I swear, I didn't know—"

"—Anyway, one of things I enjoyed doing growing up was sitting in front of a warm fire and reading a book. Simple pleasures for simple people." Smiling, Rachel took out a book from her purse. "This is _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde._ A classic, read it in high school and college as a psych major. Been looking forward to rereading this for some time."

One of the men brought up a chair and put it behind Rachel, then gave her a lighter. She nodded and he left. "While I take the rest of the evening off and read my novel, I decided your final punishment of the evening would be to make you suffer what Harvey and I experienced." Smiling, she lit the lighter, and the lights in the torture chamber were dimmed. With only the light of the lighter filling the room, she was a flickering half-horror. Wuertz began screaming uncontrollably.

"You're afraid—good! Hope you don't die right away." Rachel winked with her good eye and dropped the lighter at his feet, then sat down facing Wuertz and began to read.

_'Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile…' _Rachel lost herself in the words of Robert Louis Stevenson as the flames grew higher and brighter and the shrieks grew louder and louder, drowning out the cackling of the flames and the sizzle of roasting flesh.

* * *

When the final embers died out, the lights came on again. Rachel was still, sitting cross-legged, her eye buried in the pages of her book.

Janos walked up to her, trying to keep from retching due to the hideous singed odors of the room. "From one sadist to another, you are one mean son of a bitch."

Rachel lifted her head up and smiled. "Pleasure before business. Now that Ramirez and Wuertz have received justice for their crimes, we can go to the main task at hand: wiping out the mob."

"About time." He stood with his arms crossed in front of him, disgruntled. "Will you now tell us who our next target is?"

Rachel snapped the book shut. "Sonny Fazio. But we're not going to hit him."

"Why not?"

"My source is currently tracking Fazio's associates. He hopes eventually that they will lead to the location of Maroni and the others, maybe even the Joker."

Janos nodded. "Your 'source' must be well-placed indeed. Therefore—"

"—the moment we use this information to kill Fazio, my source will immediately know I was responsible, and not tell me anything more."

"Spoken like a true intelligence agent." Rachel did not smile at the compliment. "Do you think this will work?"

"Nothing's certain. It's one lead, we'll follow others."

"Very well. Now that the crime heads are being released, we will be able to track them."

"Exactly. I'll see what we can get from the DA and police, and my source."

"But we need to start hitting soon."

"Agreed. We have the locations of five street-level enforcers, we go after them next."

Rachel got up and shook Janos' hand. "A pleasure doing business with you."

Janos nodded, then turned back to face her handiwork. "What do we do with them?"

"Make sure they're found."

"Sending a message?"

"Of course. Good night."

* * *

"Long time no see, Commissioner."

"Too long."

"We seem to have a developing situation."

"An understatement if ever I've heard one." Turning off the Batlight, Commissioner Gordon turned away from his masked partner-not-partner to gaze out on the blazing nightlights of Gotham. He let out a loud sigh, straining to keep his head up as he leaned out.

"Tired?"

"Been very busy lately." Gordon had spent most of the past two days dealing with the aftermath of the attack on Precinct 203. _Nineteen more cops killed at the scene—fifteen in the building, four nearby—and seven others elsewhere._ Just this evening he had gotten word that the bodies of nine missing officers had been recovered all across Gotham. One of them was Lieutenant Anna Ramirez, who had died of electrocution, but whose body showed signs of brutal torture beforehand. Four more were almost certainly dirty officers and detectives, men who had been under the eyes of IA for ages, but nothing proven. They had died the same way Ramirez had: electrocution proceeded by torture. And the final body…

_...Wuertz. His entire body burned to a cinder, with the exception of his head. The coroners said the expression on his face would give them nightmares._ He fought the urge to gag.

"Bad day for the boys in blue," Batman said curtly.

"The worst. Who the hell would rocket a police station? And torture and kill cops—then dump their bodies for everyone to find?"

"These are not nice people." Before Gordon could bristle at that lame comment, Batman continued: "Whoever did this wanted to send a message."

"I don't get it, why would the mob kill so many police officers? That's never been their M.O., the trick is to get cops on the take."

"Get rid of any links in the chain back to them."

"Maybe." Gordon hesitated, then decided to tell him. "We've long suspected that cops on the mob's payroll have used precinct offices as part of their joint operations. We never had a hint that they were working out of Central West—probably that's why, good cover. Don't know how many of the cops at 203 were bent, if any. But the bodies we found across the street, all of them had undergone IA investigation in the past, and none of them were assigned to Central West." He shook his head. "Not a coincidence."

"The detectives, Wuertz and Ramirez, they were responsible for Dent and Dawes being caught by the Joker, right?"

"Wuertz almost certainly. Not so sure about Ramirez, but she was with Dent just before he disappeared."

"Not a coincidence, either" Batman responded.

Gordon rubbed his forehead. "What it is, is a hell of a mess."

"Whoever killed Wuertz wanted him to suffer a long time before he died," Batman said roughly. "And they wanted their bodies to be found, to send a message: beware."

"But why would the mob want to send a message to police officers not to collaborate? That doesn't make sense!"

Batman did not respond immediately. Then: "What about a third player?"

"Third player? What do you mean?"

"Not the mob. Maybe the Joker."

"You don't count the Joker with the mob?"

"No. The Joker's on his own island."

Gordon laughed. Then frowned. "Someone out there wanted to kill cops, probably crooked ones, but if a few straight ones got in the way, no biggies." He shook his head. "I don't know whose side they're on, but I want them out of the poker room."

"I'll get on it."

"Good luck." Without another word, Batman flew off into the night.

* * *

As the sun faded from the sky, Garcia straightened in his chair. "This is an unexpected pleasure—"

"—I'm in. Three million, no questions asked." A piece of paper with a long string of numbers fell from Wayne's hands on his desk.

The Mayor beamed. "Do you want a receipt?" Bruce Wayne gave him a disbelieving look. "I'm kidding."

Wayne sat down across from him. "How do I know you'll keep everything off the books?"

"Trust but verify."

Wayne nodded grimly. "I've asked my friends, confirmed what you're up to. I've done my investigating, nothing's showing up in the transaction logs of the banks." His gaze narrowed. "Switzerland? Macao?"

"Not Gotham. But that's all I'm saying; remember, you agreed, no questions asked."

"Well, at least one more question: what will I get for my money?"

Now Garcia dropped all pretense of civility or friendliness. With an ugly sneer to his face, he whispered: "The Joker's head on a platter, and the rest of the mob as garnishments."

"Fair enough."

"I'm glad we understand each other."

"We don't. Good night, Mayor." Wayne abruptly got up and left. Garcia scowled, but as he looked at the account numbers and code information, his frown turned upside down. _More bullets for the gun._

* * *

It was well after dark when Bruce got back to Wayne Manor. Alfred had prepared an elaborate dinner for him, atypical. Bruce didn't object, also atypical. He began eating in silence.

"This is a very dangerous game, Master Wayne, and that was a very dangerous move."

"Ummummm." He kept eating.

"Don't believe what they say, you can always track money, even anonymous cash."

Bruce swallowed. "I stopped counting what we've spent downstairs after one hundred million, a few million more won't be the straw that breaks the camel's back."

"You may be able to hide the source of the money, but you cannot hide your culpability for whatever that money has bought," Alfred chided.

"No, but I'm playing a hunch, I need to see how it plays out."

Alfred looked distraught. "It sounds like the Mayor wanted your money to hire an assassin to kill the Joker. Is that what you want?"

Bruce said, "No."

"That wasn't a very convincing no."

"But it's true." Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He returned to his food.

"What would Miss Dawes say about this?"

"'Bruce, I don't think you should have done that, you have no idea what that money is for, it's not the same as Batman, be careful,'" Bruce said in a plausible Rachel-accent.

"Be sure to tell her that the next time you see her."

"Might be a while."

"Harumph. Lover's quarrel, already?"

_Probably time to stop avoiding it. _Bruce put down his spoon and propped his head up with his right fist, staring expectantly at Alfred. "I don't know what you're insinuating, Alfred," Bruce said plainly. He fought the urge to wink.

"A gentleman never kisses and tells," Alfred replied. "I expect nothing less of you, Bruce Wayne."

Bruce leaned back and idly stirred his soup with his spoon. "It wasn't a mistake, but it was."

Alfred ostentatiously got up and in a loud voice said: "So many dishes, I'd better get started putting things away."

For a while Bruce ignored Alfred as he began cleaning up. Then he said: "Ever do the right thing for the wrong reason? Or the wrong thing for the right reason?"

Alfred stopped to look at Bruce. "What's past is past. The question is, how will the both of you go forward. You seem of two minds about the issue."

"I loved her, and she loved me. But—"

"—beg pardon, Master Wayne, but she didn't love you. Not entirely."

Of all the things he expected Alfred to say now that everything was on the table, that was the last thing on the list. "What?"

Alfred looked distraught, agitated. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he took out a card from his vest pocket. "For you, sir. I believe the time is now right."

Bruce took it from him; it was from Rachel. _Dear Bruce, I need to explain…_

…He read it, then read it again. With extreme deliberation, he put it on the table. The words were in front of him, and he kept reading them.

"When did she give this to you?" His voice was a tight whisper.

"After Dent declared himself to be the Batman at that news conference."

"So she wrote it before." He fell silent.

…_Don't make me your one hope for a normal life…_

…_Did you mean it?_

…_Yes…_

"Bruce." Alfred had sat down next to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

Bruce blew the air out of his lungs with a whistle. "Lo, the muddied waters ere become more muddied."

"She didn't tell you before?"

_A very good—and important—question. _Bruce's mind flashed back to every conversation he had with Rachel, from when she first awoke in the hospital, to two nights ago… "She said that she told Harvey she would agree to marry him, but that was when she thought she was about to die. In the hospital, when she came to, she reminded me she loved Harvey. So…"

"If Dent had survived, do you believe Rachel would have chosen him over you?"

"Before you gave me this note, no. Now…"

"Obviously the circumstances are very different."

"Obviously," Bruce said, more snidely than he intended, but Alfred did not seem to mind. "I bet she wrote this after I saw her back in the pad, the night before Dent's press conference." He searched back in his memories to that night. "I said to her, I reminded her, that she once said we could be together, once I gave up being Batman. I asked if she meant it, she said yes." _You're leaving out some important parts!_ "That gave me the strength to go down the next morning to turn myself in."

Before Alfred could respond he continued: "She also… warned me not to make her my one chance at a normal life. And she said that we couldn't be together after I turned myself in." _Alright all the cards are on the table now._

"My conclusion is, she had decided to move on from you. Even if you gave up being Batman."

"According to this note, she doubted I ever could. That's why she… chose Dent."

"But now…"

"—Dent's dead. Even if she still doubts I can give up the Batman, she came to me, and…" his voice trailed away.

"All options are on the table?" Alfred suggested.

Bruce finally chuckled. "I guess so."

Alfred's smile gave way to a pained look. "Master Wayne… could you ever choose to stop being the Batman?"

"Of course, Alfred," Bruce snapped, "I would have done it if Dent hadn't stopped me. Batman's a symbol, even I can't do this forever." The impact of those words swept over him. "Dent was so close, he would have solved everything." His voice fell to a whisper. "Now… he's dead, and the Joker's still free."

"And until the Joker is stopped, and Dent's work is completed…"

"…I must still be the Batman."

"You always have a choice, Bruce. Never forget that."

"If only it were that easy."

"But it is! Don't forget, you can always change your mind." Alfred got up. "Both of you can."

"Rachel," Bruce mused. Then he threw Alfred a smile. "She's just like me; a big messy bag of complications."

Now Alfred smiled back. "Aren't we all."

* * *

It was winding into the evening, and Bruce was sitting on the couch where, a few days ago, he and Rachel spun the night away.

_No matter how important it was, it's not the only thing—even if it's everything._ "Anti-Lombardi," Bruce said with a smile to himself. _We did it, we could do it again, or not. But the real question is, do we build a life together? And the essential preliminary to that is, whither the Batman?_

It was a draining issue to consider. _Every new ache in my bones pushed me harder to make Dent the solution. After all, no matter how much I have, I've lost so much, and given so much, just so that others would not come close to losing what I did! _He chided himself for the selfishness of that thought, but there was too much truth in it to deny anymore. _Batman was—is—an extreme solution to the even more extreme problems of our age. But as problems are solved, old solutions no longer apply. When the City and its people can step forward and run their affairs free of the grip of crime… my job is done. It's not yet over, but it's the beginning of the end; I know it is!_

The conclusion was inescapable: _Rachel and I _can_ be together! But she's hurt, wounded, not just physically, but mentally as well. _He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain of losing a loved one like Rachel did with Harvey. _If Rachel had died… I would have died that night as well. I could never have endured. _That was an iron fact. _Instead, Harvey died, and even if she loved me, that could not stop her pain. Then she suffered at the hands of the Joker. _His fists clenched. _She lost her faith in me, rightfully so. I was able to comfort—_smile—_but she'll only begin to recover when we stop him. Once we do—the healing can truly begin._

"You overthink things Bruce," he warned himself, but inside he was in a much better place. _Let's just go slow, don't push ourselves to the edge. Be friends. Keep it steady, and then when it's all over, we'll have it all._ Already Bruce began to marshal in his mind the list of things that would be needed to bring Rachel to full health again. _Difficult, but not impossible. _And he would do everything to ensure she recovered psychologically as well. _No doubt I'll play the leading role in salving her soul—_

—The door rang; Bruce was alert at once. _It couldn't be._ Alfred buzzed him. "Who is it?" he asked.

"Complications."

* * *

"You're looking happy tonight, Rachel."

"Thank you for noticing Bruce!" She was dressed not in casual clothes or in her normal business suit garb, but in a tight all-black number, clinging tightly to the curves of her body. Her stockings were even blacker, and she wore the highest heels he could ever remember seeing her in. Her hair was lovingly coiffed, and she wore a generous supply of makeup—at least, on part of her.

"What brings you here this late hour?"

"I'm feeling really good for a change, and I wanted to share that with my closest friend."

To his side Alfred had a perfectly serene look on his face. "Well, while you're here, is there anything Alfred can get you?"

"Just a glass of Chardonnay? Something bubbly."

"Very well, I'll bring it up."

"Thanks Alfred!"

"Guess I'll be sleeping downstairs again," Alfred said as he disappeared down the hall. He threw him an evil look, but said nothing.

Bruce smiled. "Just you and me."

"Yep. Let's go upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Yes, Bruce, you already gave me the tour. Come on!" She tugged at his arm, and reluctantly he followed.

All of a sudden he didn't want to talk much at all. "Work going alright?" he asked laconically.

"Actually, work's a disaster—all those dead cops, Blackgate being emptied as we speak. If you want my opinion, Gotham's about to go to hell."

_Okay! _"Thanks for being an optimist."

"Just a realist." They began climbing the second flight of stairs.

Bruce stopped them. "Rachel, about your note."

She looked at him. "Alfred finally gave it to you."

"I'm so sorry."

Rachel was surprised. Then smiling. "Don't be! It's all in the past!"

"But Harvey—"

"—is dead. Yes, he's dead, nothing can bring him back." Abruptly she turned away. "But I've moved on." She turned to face him. "Not because I want to, not because it's easy."

"Rachel…"

"Oh Bruce, I loved Harvey as much as I love you. Life doesn't give us the luxury of wallowing in the past. We can do it, but it doesn't change things, and so it doesn't help. You of all people know that."

"I guess not."

"I'm serious. Your parents were murdered, you took action." Bruce's eyes widened, but she cut him off: "The wrong kind with Chill, the right kind with Batman." Her lips quivered slightly. "Same with me. I loved Harvey; Harvey died; time to move on." She resumed climbing.

"I'll always be there for you Rachel, no matter what, you can always count on me as your friend."

She beamed. "Exactly what I said to you!" Without stopping she pulled and pushed him into the guest bedroom.

"So what would you like to—oomph!" As soon as they entered she whirled about and threw herself into him, kissing aggressively, kicking the door shut.

"Right now," Rachel said, her voice heavy with desire, pulling her arms out of her sleeves.

"Oh, wait!" Bruce tried to stop her. "We don't have to rush things—"

"—yes we do, because you never know what will happen tomorrow." She was now halfway out of her dress, the sleeves dangling from her waist as she pushed him to the bed.

"You might think this is what you want—"

"—I want it, you want it, there's nothing wrong with this." Again she launched herself fiercely at Bruce, almost biting him in her efforts to keep her mouth attached to his.

Eagerly Rachel suckled; his tongue reflexively extended into her mouth, and she bit it! "Umph!" Bruce stopped holding back; he pulled her arms violently away from his chest and shook her. Her head rolled about, then faced him, a wicked grin on her half-face.

Bruce's voice took a hard edge."I just don't want you to be hurt."

Rachel nodded slowly. Her arms slackened; he released her. Slowly, gently, she caressed his face. "I love you, Bruce Wayne, I want to spend the rest of my life with you." She pulled closer, until once again their bodies crushed together. Kissing him gently, nuzzling his neck. "No secrets between us, no masks." She pretended to pull at his face, then slowly took off her mask. "Just you and me, loving each other as only we can." Rachel pulled away a bit, looking down. When she lifted her head up, she smiled again, an innocent grin. Pulling up the hem of her dress all the way, she pressed her left hand to her lips in mock embarrassment. "Oops. Guess I forgot my bottoms."

Bruce's dark knight was rising. He backed up slowly, Rachel's arms locked around his neck. Grabbing her waist, he leaped backwards, taking her with him. She straddled Bruce, not once breaking her gaze at him. Slowly she unbuttoned his shirt; he removed her bra.

Staring up, Bruce Wayne didn't even notice her mangled features; half of Rachel Dawes was worth more than an infinity of everything.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

"Let's do it again."

"I'm ready."

…

"Yes, yes! Harder, more!"

"Oh God!"

* * *

"Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"Take me."

"You know, it's getting late."

"Come on, don't be shy."

"Okay Rachel."

"Mmm, this time, I want you to be a little rough."

"Sorry?"

"You're so gentle Bruce! Don't be so soft, I won't break!"

"Uh…"

"Get ready, Mister Batman."

"I, well, oh—!"

* * *

"Come on! Choke me, you bastard!"

"Rachel?"

"That's it, hit me! I like the pain!"

"No, that's it."

"You know you want to, treat me the way you treat those filthy criminals; beat me down—"

"—Enough!"

"Sorry Brucie, I just love you so much, I want to please you."

"I want to please you too, but—"

"—So just play along! It's just a little fantasy, role-play!"

"I don't know…"

"Come on, it's just like when you wear your mask. Can't I pretend to be someone else, in the bedroom? I'm still your sweet beloved Rachel, but tonight, I wanna be a badass bitch. I like to inflict pain—"

"—oww, you bit me!"

" –and I like it when you hurt me. Come on, do it!"

"Rachel!"

"Please? I've been a bad girl. A very, _very_ bad girl, and I need to be punished. The Batman must punish evil, dirty Rachel."

"Jesus…"

"Very bad."

"Alright."

* * *

Bruce squinted as his eyes were assaulted by the onslaught of a bright Saturday morning. Rachel lay beside him. He reached out to caress her bare right shoulder; his fingers paused in midair. _Craziness._

The tips of his fingers touched. "Good morning."

He pulled away. Rachel rolled over to face him, smiling like a half-angel / half-demon. "This is becoming alarmingly familiar," he murmured.

"We're not in trouble yet." She began stroking his torso; veritable goosebumps rose on his skin. Her fingers traced over a thick mass of scar tissue—where the beam that fell from the ceiling had struck him, knocking him unconscious in a burning Wayne Manor. "You've suffered so much."

"It's all in the past," he said quietly. "These are just signs of bad memories."

Rachel pushed herself onto him, so that her body snuggled up to his. She put her arms around him; he did not reciprocate. She reached up and kissed him. "Guess you never really know someone until you sleep with them."

He smiled. "What more do you want to know about me? I think you know everything now."

"No Bruce Wayne, you're still full of surprises."

"Like what?"

Rachel kissed him again, deeper. When she pulled back she stroked his cheek, which made him react. "You're such a gentle soul, for such a violent guy."

"Last night notwithstanding, I'd rather not handle you the way I handle Maroni or Fazio."

"Which makes you totally different from Harvey. He wouldn't hurt a fly—physically, but boy did he put me in my place when we were in the sack!"

Something about himself twisted the wrong way. "It's none of my business," he said as diplomatically as he could.

Playfully Rachel said: "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with!"

_And so she—we—did. _"I wish he were alive," Bruce said, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"Oh really?" Her voice was unpleasantly sarcastic.

"Really." He was completely sincere in his answer. _Well, almost…_

"Even if it meant you couldn't have… this?" She nuzzled his neck as her hands became busy. "Or this?" She reached lower.

Bruce's body jerked. Though he wanted to, he did not push her away. "Harvey Dent was Gotham's best hope for the future."

Not pausing, Rachel mumbled: "Then we'll just have to make do with the next best thing."

"I'm trying," he said tiredly.

"So am I," she said with sudden vehemence. Without warning she flipped him on his back and mounted him. "Show me what you've got!"

Bruce hesitated, then: "Okay."

* * *

Afterwards, they laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling, silent. Bruce turned on the radio by the bed, which began playing the morning news; as expected, the lead story was the ongoing investigation of the police massacre. He let it run for a while.

"All those cops killed," he said after turning off the radio.

"Such a shame."

"Wuertz and Ramirez were among the dead."

"Yep."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Dead cops are dead cops."

"But some of them were dirty cops, the dirtiest. They were responsible for you and Harvey—"

"—whoever killed them will face justice."

"But do you think they received justice?"

"What I think doesn't matter."

"Rachel, look at me." She did, revealing her good side and bad.

"Yes, Bruce?"

"If you had the Joker in your hands, what would you do?"

Rachel's face was unreactive. Her voice was as neutral as her gaze when she said: "Kill him, of course." Bruce turned away. "It's the only way to be sure."

"Death does have that very annoying trait of being permanent."

"It wouldn't be murder."

"You're the lawyer, but somehow I don't think that's what the law says."

"Murder is unjustified killing. Killing the Joker is justified."

"How?"

"The law is what twelve people in a juror box say it is. Or a judge, flawed human beings that they are."

"I want to stop the Joker as much as you do—because of what he did to Harvey and you. But…"

"…you don't think we should kill him?"

"Not a fan of capital punishment."

"Just revenge."

"Trust me, Rachel, revenge isn't all that."

Rachel fell silent. "Hmm." Then: "Oh! Right, I had forgotten. Joe Chill was killed by Falcone, but that wasn't enough for you. Correct?"

"It was more than enough. Too much, actually. Someone taught me that, a long time ago."

Rachel sighed. "Turn about's fair play." Then she smiled, an ugly sight. "I look forward to being rebuked and reprimanded by you. After the Joker's dead."

Bruce was at a loss for words. He looked up at the ceiling and not at his lover. Finally: "This wasn't what I expected."

"Things change?"

"Yes, things change."

* * *

"Good morning, Alfred!" Rachel was positively beaming as they walked down the stairs towards the foyer, arms locked together.

"And to you, Miss Dawes. Shall I prepare brunch?"

"No thank you, Bruce filled me up quite nicely last night and today," Rachel said baldly, rubbing his arm.

Alfred betrayed neither shock nor surprise at her brash words. "Then I hope you have a safe trip back to Gotham."

"Thanks." She came up and pecked him on the cheek, then planted a quick one on Bruce. "See you soon?"

"Any time, any place. You're always welcome here."

"Thank you. Bye!" They both watched as Rachel got in her car and drove away. Bruce closed the door and walked back into the manor.

"She seems…different."

"Alfred, you have no idea."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Rachel made her way back. Inside, she whistled (as best as she could) in admiration of Janos' handiwork. "You've been busy."

"You set an impressive example for us to follow," Janos replied. In the interrogation chamber, the bodies of six mobsters hung lifelessly, all showing signs of vigorous questioning.

She pointed. "Anything from Fazio's men?"

Janos shook his head. "Good news and bad news. Good news: Fazio is in touch with the Joker, or at least the Joker's representatives. Bad news: they don't know who the contact is, only Fazio does."

Rachel frowned. "That doesn't help much."

"No, it does not."

She turned her gaze to the bodies. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"Let's start bringing them in. One family at a time. We get what we can from each, then dispose of them."

"Shall we start with Fazio?"

"Yes. We need a line on the Joker as soon as possible. After that, Maroni."

"The head mob Families will all have tight security. We will need to use multiple teams for each hit. That will take time."

"Then we better start today."

* * *

"Where will you be going tonight, sir?"

"Repeat visit with Fazio."

"And after that? A nightcap perhaps, with Miss Dawes?"

"Alfred—"

"—personally, I couldn't be happier for the two of you."

"Better save the champagne. Something's wrong with Rachel."

"These days plastic surgery can work miracles—"

"—I meant, psychically." Bruce paused, reluctant at first to state his doubts.

"She's upset—no, angry."

"Filled with rage against the Joker." _I won't say what she said to me, it's too disturbing…_

"If you're worried, I highly doubt she'll be going after him dressed as 'Batwoman' or anything like that."

Bruce laughed automatically—then the import of Alfred's comments hit home like a ton of bricks. "What are you implying?" he asked with tightly-controlled fury. "Batman is not about—"

"—not about revenge, yes, Master Wayne, so you say. Remember, Rachel lost her erstwhile-fiancée to the Joker. Hundreds of people on that ferry died—"

"It wasn't her fault!"

"Of course not, but she's probably feeling a little guilty for not pulling that trigger."

"There's nothing wrong with Rachel," Bruce growled.

"You just spoke to the contrary a moment before," Alfred chided. _Damn he's right. _"All I'm saying is, don't begrudge her her anger."

"But Rachel's a lawyer, she's all about justice—"

"She's a woman, a human being. Just like the rest of us, we are enraged when darkness takes away those we love."

Bruce studied Alfred's face—it was a familiar expression to his own, filled with pain. Almost reflexively an image of his parents lying dead in the streets filled his vision. He had to sit down to make it pass.

Alfred sat next to him. "The next time you see Rachel, talk to her. I'm sure she wants to share her feelings with you. And I'm sure you'll both benefit from it." He put a warm hand on Bruce's shoulders.

Bruce smiled and patted Alfred's hand. "You're right." _He's right. I can help heal her, emotionally. She's acting out her rage in the bedroom, but only when she expresses her feelings, will she return to normal._

Without another word Bruce got up and began garbing himself in the mantle of the Bat.

* * *

It was past midnight, and in the shadows Batman moved across the rooftops of Gotham's Little Sicily. Atop a shabby eight-story apartment lowrise, he took out his tracking scope; a bright dot appeared in the center of the screen. _Just below._

There were no doors leading in, and all the windows in the floor below were shuttered. _Time to drop in._ Batman took a charge out of his utility belt and walked away from the center of the building until the dot on the scope had shifted to the right. Then he planted the charge and hurriedly ran to the edge of the building, ducking and covering himself with his cape.

_**BOOM!**_ Immediately he got up and without hesitation leaped through the five feet hole in the ceiling. Landing, he heard coughing and cursing. Instinctively he flung himself forward; the man had attempted to bring a shotgun to bear, but Batman knocked it out of his arms and flung the man to the floor. Standing over him, he had his right foot at his throat.

Eventually the smoke cleared, and Fazio stared up at him, his face bright red. "Evening Frog."

Releasing him, Fazio instantly leashed a string of harsh curses in English and Sicilian. Batman grabbed him by his front jacket collar and brought him face to face.

"You stupid sonofabitch! You coulda' killed me!"

"Could. Bud didn't."

"That roof will cost you fifty thousand dollars—"

"—Take it up with police, after they impound the place roof repair will be the least of your worries." He looked around; the spare apartment had piles of cash and white powder strewn about. The front door was barricaded and rigged with explosives. _Good call on the roof._

"How the hell did you find me?"

"I had you bugged." Fazio's eyes widened; he began feeling himself up. _Not there,_ Batman thought amusedly. _Try your wallet._

"So whadda you want then?"

"I want the Joker."

"Don't know nothin'." Batman belted Fazio in the kidneys, allowing him to collapse to the floor wheezing.

"Think harder."

"Damnit! Why don't you ask the police, I'm sure they know by now!"

His words confused Batman. "What do you mean?"

Fazio grunted. "I mean, all my buddies were snatched by SWAT teams last night. They're probably spilling their guts to Gordon as we speak."

"I don't know anything about that," Batman said honestly.

Fazio laughed. "Yeah, don't give me that crap—we all know you and the cops are in cahoots."

Batman's mind raced. _There was nothing in the news or police reports I reviewed this evening about taking Fazio's men into custody. _"Are you sure? How do you know?"

"They were playing bocchi with my nephews when they got snatched. My youngest, Victor, tipped me off as soon as they left." He smiled brightly. "Kid's a sharp cookie, I'll leave him a C-note for his birthday next month."

The situation was still confusing, but Batman quickly decided to put it aside. "Doesn't matter. I'm here for the Joker. Don't tell me you don't know, because I know you're lying. You and a few others are the only mobsters still on the streets. Everyone else has gone to ground. Which means either you're not afraid of him, or you've cut a deal."

Fazio stared at him blankly. "That's the biggest load of bulls—" Abruptly the power went out.

"Huh." Fazio had tried to run a moment later but Batman still had him by the collar. He threw Fazio to the ground and put a pair of handcuffs on him. Getting up, he pried open a window and looked down. There was movement at street level.

Batman activated the eyepieces in his cowl; the darkness was replaced by clear images created by the light-intensification lenses. Four men garbed in SWAT-team garb poured out of an unmarked minivan and were heading into the building. They seemed heavily loaded with gear.

"What is it, the cops?"

"Maybe."

"Crap, and here we are on the top floor—"

"—disarm the explosives on the door, I want to go outside."

"You ain't leaving me here with them—"

"—Do it or I toss you out the window!"

Fazio glared at him, then waddled to the door and pulled out three wires. "All clear."

Batman wasn't so easily fooled. "You do it."

Fazio grinned, and pulled out a fourth wire, then unlocked the door. Batman opened it and looked down the staircase. Only the faint glow of emergency lights were visible. He heard a door open and a man yell, "Who the hell are you?" His voice was cut down by the sound of silenced automatic fire.

Abruptly Batman went back inside. "It's a hit. Let's go."

"Go where?"

Batman got a chair and put it in the middle of the room under the hole in the ceiling. He got up and jumped, grabbing the edge and pulling himself through. He took out a wire from his belt and tossed it down. "Grab it," he said. Fazio took the wire and Batman slowly, laboriously pulled him through.

"Now what?" Suddenly beneath them there was a loud explosion; the front door had been blown through. Batman raced to the edge of the building as Fazio followed him. Behind them bullets popped through the rooftop, heading towards them.

Acting like a machine, Batman extended the ribs of his cape to full capacity. He grabbed the protesting Fazio and leaped from the rooftop. Ignoring the screaming Fazio, Batman noted with alarm that their altitude was dropping rapidly, and the cape was quivering under the strain. Below, he suddenly saw a dark patch in the brightly-lit night sky of Gotham—a small park. When they were at treetop level he let Fazio go, who fell screaming into a pond. Batman himself crashed into the ground moments later, the ribs on his suit completely mangled. Fortunately, he had tucked himself into a ball and avoided breaking any bones in his arms or legs, but his right side ached from the impact.

Wearily he headed towards the pond and fished Fazio out. Dripping wet, he was about to curse him when a dull fireball lit up the night sky. From a half-mile away, Batman and Fazio watched as his apartment building went up in a blaze of fire.

"Holy Jesus, they blew up the building," Fazio said in awe.

"They weren't cops, in case you hadn't figured it out," Batman said roughly.

"Who were they?"

He had his suspicions. "A new player. Someone who wants guys like you—and guys like me—off the field for good."

Fazio processed this information for a while. Suddenly his eyes opened wide in shock. "Joker! He set me up!"

_Not exactly. _But Batman decided to lead him on. "How so?"

"Joe. That's the only name he goes by, he's a matchmaker." Batman stared. "You know, brings two parties together when they need to make a deal and can't trust each other. A week ago, he came to me, said he's fronting for the Joker, gave us his card." Fazio pulled out a joker card with a bullethole and gave it to Batman. "Said the Joker would get the heat off our backs if we played along—"

"—and you believed him?"

"Hey, between the cops and you, it seemed the only way out. One of my guys musta ratted me out, they were the only ones who knew about that hiding place."

Batman regarded him warily. "You're sure all this is good info?"

"Yeah it is!

Batman carefully pondered his next words. "Listen carefully. You can't trust the Joker, no one can. So you're going to lure him into a trap."

Fazio's face suddenly showed keen interest. "I'm listening."

"The Joker clearly wants to wipe you guys out and take over. Frankly I wouldn't shed much of a tear if he did so, but I want him taken out as much as you do. So tell all of your friends that the next time one of them meets with Joe, they should pretend to rat all of you out. Tell Joe you're all hiding someplace, all of you together. The Joker won't pass up the opportunity to try to wipe you out in one blow. But instead it's a trap, with all your guys ready. Instead of getting picked off one by one, you take out all the Joker's men in one blow."

Fazio was silent, then chuckled. "Interesting plan. But I see what you're trying to do—set us up so that the Joker waxes us all. No sale."

"How can he do that if you're the one laying the trap? I assure you I won't set you up, you don't even have to tell me where it's happening."

"No?"

Batman shook his head. "We have a common enemy—the Joker. All I ask is that you bring him to the police alive."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Despite himself, Batman said: "No killing." _It's what separates me from you._

Fazio nodded sagely. "Looks like Maroni had you pegged alright. But the Joker got away once from the cops—with inside help. How do you know he won't escape again?"

Batman grimaced. "I said bring him to the police alive. I didn't say the Joker had to be in one piece."

"Ahh, I get it. Yeah, couple of busted kneecaps and wrists, and he ain't so tough."

Batman turned away. "I don't want to know."

Behind him Fazio laughed. "No, no, of course not!" He laughed some more. "I love it! Whodda thought Batman and the underworld would be fighting side by side?"

"We have a deal?"

"Sure. Let's shake." Batman turned and glared at him.

Fazio began moving backwards. "Nice doing business with you." Batman said nothing as he fled into the night.

* * *

"What went wrong?"

"We're not exactly sure. One thing is clear: Fazio had prepared a plan of escape, and managed to do so."

Rachel was still in shock at the news. "Was it necessary to destroy the whole building?" _How many innocent people did they kill—did I kill?_

Janos shrugged. "A few dozen at most. All of them nobodies, no one will miss them." He looked at her warily. "No traces, remember?"

_Oh well, in the grand scheme of thing, what does it matter?_ What did matter was: "Does that include me when your mission is complete?" Rachel asked angrily, not even the least bit afraid.

Janos smiled. "Of course not. Our superiors specifically asked for you to be part of this. And we forfeit our final payment if you are harmed."

Rachel was surprised to hear this. "Well, since this is all about money for you, I guess I have nothing to worry about."

"Exactly." Janos shrugged. "Fazio was lucky. He won't be lucky forever."

"Indeed I hope not. What next?"

"We continue surveillance of all mobsters suspected of having ties with the Joker. I will also consult with Smith, our liason with the City. One or the other will lead us to him, eventually."

"And the others?"

Janos smiled. "You are referring to Maroni, yes?" Rachel merely glared at him. "He has a big family, and not all of them will be as cautious as he. They will lead us to him eventually." He paused. "Family ties are always a weakness. Miss Dawes. Never fail to exploit that weakness in your enemies."

"Right."

* * *

"Master Wayne, your capacity for surprise appears without limit."

"I'm not sure how to interpret that."

"Perhaps as an expression of admiration and disapproval."

"'Oh what a tangled web we weave…'"

"Exactly. I thought the goal of all this was to fight criminality."

"It still is."

"So what do you call working with the underworld?"

"Divide and conquer—something Englishmen should be well-acquainted with, yes?"

"The British Empire is what it is. But you can—you should—be so much more."

Bruce sighed as he sank back against the wall of the hottub. "Those men were going to assassinate Fazio. I don't kill criminals, period."

Alfred fell silent. "If you're right—"

"—I sure hope not."

Alfred shook his head in dismay. "Mercenaries hired by Gotham's politicians, killing criminals—along with any innocent police or bystanders who happen to get in the way."

"That's not the worst part of it."

"That you contributed millions in your own funds to this vile enterprise makes you morally, if not legally, culpable," Alfred said severely.

"I was going to say Rachel is wrapped up in this, but thank you Alfred, that is another downside," Bruce said sardonically.

Alfred turned away, shaking his head. "Of all the people in Gotham, I can't imagine Miss Dawes being involved."

"Grief and pain can do funny things to people." Before Alfred could react, Bruce interjected: "Yes, present-company included."

"So now what?"

Not wanting to answer, not wanting to deal with it at all, Bruce simply took a deep breath and lowered himself beneath the warm bubbly water.

Above, he could see Alfred's distorted visage peering down at him, bemused. Stubbornly, Bruce stayed under for some time, then finally rose, gasping.

"Three minutes ten seconds, very impressive."

"Actually I could have stayed under for eight minutes."

"Rubbish. The record is five minutes. Learned that in Burma myself."

"You'd be surprised what you can learn in the League of Shadows."

"Quite so."

Alfred proffered Bruce a towel. "You're right, we can't let this go on any longer, Joker or not. I'll meet with Rachel and talk sense to her."

"Will she listen?"

"Maybe." Reacting to Alfred's questioning look, Bruce said: "It may depend on how much clothing we've got on while we talk."

"Oho!"

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Bruce put a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I'll bring her back, Alfred, I promise. And when I do," he gestured around the bathroom. "The Wayne legacy will have a future."

Bruce prudently ignored the moistness of Alfred's eyes. "Good luck, Bruce," he said heavily.

* * *

Bruce rang the intercom and waited. He tried not to get nervous as he continued to wait. _Just called this afternoon, everything was fine. No need to be paranoid, nothing's wrong._

"Hello?"

"It's me." The door buzzed and he entered posthaste.

Rachel's apartment was seven floors up. Without hesitation Bruce took the stairs, removing his cap and the wrinkled beige raincoat he was wearing. Clad in a plain dark collared shirt and blue jeans with black sneakers, he was thoroughly unremarkable in appearance.

Bruce walked up slowly, furiously thinking ahead. _I have to bring her back, and soon; the more we do this, it's only a matter of time before everyone knows._ As long as the Joker was free Rachel would be in mortal danger, and he would not be able to protect her all the time, even as Batman.

Though it still saddened him to contemplate what had happened to Rachel (_Harvey Dent may he rest in peace), _Bruce was equally excited at their prospects. _Once the Joker goes down, with a little luck we can put the mob down once and for all. When that happens, the Batman will have served his purpose…and we can have a life together!_ Even to think it was to marvel at its strangeness—the very concept of a normal life was almost as scary as the demons he fought on the streets and in his dreams. _But if there's anyone who can tame the demons, it's her. Because she, unlike anyone else, knows how far I've fallen, and what it took to rise back._

Reflexively he straightened his hair, which still flopped gloriously about. In front of her door, he rang the bell. _Smile!_

The door opened. Rachel stood there, a pleasant half-smile on her face. She looked like she had come straight from work, wearing a businesslike white blouse and black silk pants—and her now-familiar plastic mask over the left side of her face. "Bruce, come in."

"Thanks." As the door closed behind him, he turned and offered Rachel a bunch of roses. "For you."

"Oh that's so nice of you, Bruce!" Happily Rachel kissed him on the cheek. "I'll take that." She took the roses into the kitchen area and put them on the counter.

"Nice place you have here," Bruce commented; it was the first time he had ever been here.

Rachel was unpacking things from the fridge. "I know it's a bit cramped, just make yourself at home."

"No, it's really roomy!" Blinking he took in his surroundings—it was barely larger than Alfred's bedroom… An old beige couch and coffee table dominated the space. Bruce sat down, staring at the lime green walls. On the coffee table was a picture of Rachel and Dent, apparently in front of Gotham Zoo. He returned his view to the walls.

Rachel had brought a bottle and two glasses as she sat next to him. Before he could say anything, she said: "Sparkling apple cider."

"Alright then." She poured glasses, they toasted and drank. Rachel sat to his right, cross-legged; she was wearing those high-heeled shoes. From where he sat, the mask hid most, but not all, of the damage to her features.

"How was your work week?"

"Busy. A hundred new major felonies, two dozen murders. The usual in Gotham." She smiled and took another sip.

"I hope we can change that."

"Don't worry, Bruce, we will."

"How about your week?"

"It was… busy."

"Both?"

"Both." He put the glass down. "I've got a plan to get the Joker."

"Ooh, can I hear the details?"

"Afraid not, I don't know them."

"Huh?"

"Long story."

"Looking forward to hearing it." She snuggled closer and put her head down on his right shoulder. The hardness of the plastic shocked him.

Bruce jumped. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Of course not, there's no nerves left to feel pain." Bruce flinched. "Sorry, that was a joke."

Bruce didn't say anything, instead slipping his right arm down and around Rachel's waist. She grunted and adjusted her body to let him do so. She took his left hand in hers and began caressing them. "Are you hungry?"

"No, had a late lunch."

"Good. I was thinking—I shouldn't have acted like that last week."

"Sorry?"

"Let's just do it nice and gentle tonight." Abruptly she got up.

"Wait, wait!" Rachel looked at him quizzically. "Let's talk first."

"Strange words coming from a man, but okay." She pivoted and landed in his lap with a thud, straddling him. "What do you want talk about?"

Bruce shook his head and gently but firmly put Rachel to the side. Taking her hands into his, he said: "I want you to know, Rachel, I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Bruce."

"I know how much pain you must be in, every day. Physically." He stroked her right cheek. "Emotionally." He placed his had above her heart.

"You can't avoid pain, not always."

"No. You can't."

"Pain can be a prod to action, to greater things. I mean, just look at the Batman!"

"Tonight's not about the Batman. It's about you and me. Our future together."

Her eye widened. "Do we have a future together?"

Bruce nodded vigorously. "Absolutely."

Her surprise turned to suspicion. "But…"

Bruce prepared himself. "Is everything okay with you?"

Rachel looked askance at him. "You have to be more specific."

Unable to finesse his words, he just said it: "You seemed rather bloodthirsty about the Joker last week. I don't think it's healthy."

She didn't respond at first. Then she said in a flat voice: "I've got reason to feel this way, don't you think?"

"It's just so… atypical. You weren't like this, before…"

Rachel smiled seductively. Provocatively, she got down on her knees and kneeled in front of Bruce. "Oh, Bruce, you know it's just me blowing off steam. Once we get him, it'll all be the way it was. I'd never do anything to act on it." She put her hands on his legs and drew closer to him. "You know me, Bruce. You believe me."

Bruce didn't think the wrong answer would hurt him so badly. _This is going to be very unpleasant._ Gently taking her hands off of him, he said sadly: "Actually, I think I don't know you, and I'm afraid I don't believe you."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know who they are or where they came from, but they're running around Gotham, killing people left and right."

Rachel still played the innocent. "Who are 'they'?"

"Mercenaries. Death squads. Pick a name, but someone's paying them to hunt down members of the mob. Delivering summary justice. And not caring who gets in their way."

Rachel looked confused. "Bruce, this is Gotham, you can get killed for a newspaper or looking at someone the wrong way—"

"—street thugs don't assassinate City Council members, or blow up police stations with anti-tank missiles, or torture policemen to death. We've got some bad new actors running around." He took a breath. "And you know about them."

Something of her innocent demeanor faded away. In a slightly mocking tone, she said: "What makes you think that?"

"Maybe it's just coincidence that the two detectives responsible for kidnapping you and Harvey end up dying in the most painful way imaginable." Bruce got up and took a step back from her. "And I told you about Fazio, how I suspected he was in with the Joker. Lo and behold, a week later all his men are snatched from the streets, by men appearing as SWAT teams. Their bodies are fished out of the Gotham River, and Fazio himself narrowly avoids getting hit."

Her eyes narrowed. "How did you know Fazio survived?"

_Gotcha! _"The Batman saved him. May I ask you the same question?"

Rachel looked up at him from the floor. "I don't think that's the real question you want to ask me. Is it, Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head. "How did you get involved? Did you leak info from the DA's office to them? What else have you told them?"

Rachel got up on her feet. "I'll give you an answer, but first I want to slip into something more comfortable," she said playfully. "Okay?"

Bruce curtly nodded. _You wanna play? Let's play. _Rachel blew him a kiss and turned to go into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Bruce adjusted his form and mentally prepared himself, shifting into a combat stance, patting his chest. _If she's going to shoot me—well, let's hope this lightweight Kevlar vest Fox gave me will do the trick._ From her bedroom, Bruce heard a lot of agitated movement and even the ripping of cloth.

"Ready?" Rachel asked from the other room.

"Let's do it," Bruce said, completely in the dark as to what would happen next.

The door opened. "Do you like?"

_Whoah._ He had mentally prepared himself to resist any possible sexual stratagem that Rachel was planning to use, up to her striding completely naked into the room, but this—

—Rachel lay diagonally across the entryway, her right foot in the lower-left corner, her right arm in the upper right. She had done something with her clothes, such that the right half of her blouse and pants were intact. On the left side, however, she had torn or cut off her blouse, revealing a white push-up bra—which had also been cut away. Rachel had similarly torn off the left side of her pants, such that he could half-see the black lace garter and fishnet stockings of her slender left leg, which rubbed seductively up and down her right leg. The right side of her hair was curled up in a tight bun. Finally, she had removed her mask.

"I couldn't think of any better way to express myself," Rachel said as she stood straight in the doorway—half dressed, half naked, split right down the middle. "Part of me is still good and kind, compassionate, a believer in the law. The other part—"

—She slowly strode towards him. "—I've never imagined I could be such a bad girl, and I love it!"

Bruce took a step back. "They always talk about duality in literature: good and evil, man and woman, black and white, life and death, light and dark, old and young. When the Joker burned me, it's like he burned away the cocoon, and a new me was born." She stood in a model pose, hands up and out to the side. "There's two sides to everyone, a good side and a bad side." She continued walking towards him. "Like Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. So the good Rachel Dawes is your loyal friend and confidant, shining upholder of the impartial system of law, and the bad Rachel—"

"Decides to jump in the sack with Bruce Wayne?" he said sneeringly.

Rachel snorted. "Men! Always thinking sex is what makes women bad. Oh no, Bruce Wayne, the bad side of me did much more than leak info from the DA's office. No, I was there, Bruce. I flipped the switch that electrocuted Anna Ramirez." Bruce's mouth fell open in shock. "I lured that police officer to his death, just before they blew up the station. And all those dirty cops who tried to escape, I took my time making sure they died slowly, painfully. Especially Wuertz. I avenged Harvey; I made the pig burn."

Bruce stumbled and fell onto the couch, horrorstruck by the atrocities Rachel was confessing to, the depth she had sunk. Rachel sat demurely to his side, although it was her naked, wild half that was closest to him. "I also used the info you gave me about Fazio to have his men kidnapped and tortured for info leading to his capture." She nudged closer, and this time Bruce steeled himself not to move away. "And yes, we also had nasty, oily hate sex."

Bruce numbly shook his head. "How? Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "One bad day. Can turn a little boy into a Batman. Or me—" she turned so that the right side of her was facing him, "—into _me_—" she turned back, showing her left side.

"You tortured, killed," Bruce babbled, resisting the urge to throw up.

"Now that you know about good Rachel and bad Rachel, tell me: which one of us was the one you slept with?"

Bruce came to a decision. Abruptly he stood. "I'm reporting you to the police. I will stop you."

Rachel nodded. "You could do that. But you won't."

"Why not?"

"One, because we have powerful people backing us up. I think you know them." Bruce tensed. "Second, if you do, well, I'll have to spill the beans too."

_She would tell everyone I'm Batman._ "Really?" he asked, more disappointed than shocked now.

Rachel fidgeted. "To be honest, I don't really want to. You see, part of me—" she pointed between her legs—"wants to keep you around. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." She paused. "I have the solution!"

_What?_ Rachel smiled and pulled out a knife. Bruce instantly tensed, but she turned the knife to herself. "Kill me, Bruce Wayne—Batman. Kill me, and I promise your secret dies with me."

Bruce did not respond. Smiling, Rachel began caressing her neck with the flat side of the knife blade. "Come on, Bruce, I know you want to." She began tracing circles with the point above the cleft of her bosoms. "Sink this cold, hard shaft into my soft, waiting flesh—"

—with a flourish he grabbed the blade from her hands and flung it across the room. They glared at each other. Rachel stood up and contemptuously said: "I knew you didn't have it in you. What a pathetic weakling you are Bruce. You talk a good talk, when you're in the big bad Batsuit, but when it's time to pull the trigger, you run away, crying to Daddy." She spat at his feet. "Since you don't have any balls, why don't you go home and play with your money, while we do the real work of saving Gotham from the Joker and his crime buddies?"

Rachel fell silent. Coldly Bruce said: "Anything else?"

Suddenly Rachel pouted and cringed. "Wait, before you go, can't we spend the night together? I promise, once we kill the mean bad Joker, we can be together forever, your secret safe with me."

She looked at him with those wide puppy-eyes; it was absolutely astonishing and ridiculous. Bruce strode up to Rachel until they were nose to nose. "I thought you hated me."

Rachel smiled and began stroking his left cheek. "Oh, Bruce. Just because I hate you, doesn't mean I don't love you!" She gently reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips. Bruce closed his eyes. When he opened them, she pulled away, still smiling, and slapped him hard.

Shocked, Bruce looked at Rachel in blank incomprehension, a beautiful/hideous demon from some unimaginable/familiar hell. Grabbing his coat, he ran to the door and fled the room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

"Master Wayne? Bruce?" Bruce did not respond. Alfred put down the tray with tea and sat next to him.

"Sorry, Alfred." But he fell silent again.

"I presume your being home early, meant the evening didn't go well with Miss Dawes."

Bruce chuckled softly. "That would be a profound understatement."

"What happened? What did she say?"

Bruce bit his lip. "She confessed that there are indeed mercenaries running around Gotham killing criminals, policemen, whoever gets in their way. And… she's not just feeding them information from the DA office. Rachel's hands are dirty."

"How dirty?"

He had to swallow something that was rising up his throat. "Blood-red," he managed to gurgle.

A look of uncomprehending horror filled Alfred's face. "Impossible."

"I didn't want to believe it, but there's no mistake. She's doing it—no, she's _enjoying_ it." Bruce shuddered.

"Master Wayne, the money you gave to the mayor—"

"—another mistake in a long line of mistakes I've made," Bruce said bitterly.

"What are you going to do?" His wizened eyes suddenly widened. "She knows! If you move against her—"

"—I won't. Not yet."

Now Alfred's eyes narrowed. "You didn't make a deal with her, did you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. Well, not exactly." Before Alfred could object, he cut him off: "The mercs have to be stopped, and I will stop them."

"What about Rachel?"

Bruce took a deep breath. _Do I dare do this? There might not be any choice. _"I have a plan to get her off the hook. But it will only work if she changes her mind."

"And she said she wouldn't."

"She said once the Joker's dead, everything goes back to normal."

"Do you believe that?"

_Yes—No—Maybe? _"I don't know. But like someone told me, there's no going back." Bruce got up and went to the window, looking out into the darkness. "I need to think of another way to bring her back. Soon."

"And then?"

Bruce turned to face him, his face extremely grim. "We're all-in at this point, Alfred. Whether we make it—flip a coin."

"Not very reassuring."

"But it's truth."

"I guess that will have to do."

* * *

The next Monday, as Rachel left the DA office at one o'clock for lunch, Bruce caught up with her. "Afternoon Miss Dawes."

She kept walking at a steady pace. "Same to you Bruce. But I don't have time to chitchat, this is a grab-and-go lunch."

"I know of a way to get you out," he said hurriedly.

"We still have a job to do. Till then, sorry." They crossed the street.

"Rachel, you're just an expendable pawn to them," he said louder than he wanted, but the onrush of traffic forced him to raise his voice. "The minute they're done, they'll kill you to hide their tracks."

"We all have to die sometime." Rachel now was in line for a food cart. Bruce got as close to her as he could.

"Tell me what I need to know, and I can protect you," Bruce whispered in her right ear. "We've all made mistakes. This is the one chance I can give you to put yours behind."

Rachel smiled grimly. "You can't exactly expunge accessory to murder one."

"Rachel! Listen to me—"

"—oh I'm listening. What do you need to know? Wait, let me guess—you want to know the location of my new friends. Once they're out of the picture, I can walk away, right?"

_Her face may be half-gone, but she's still sharp as a tack. _"So where are they?"

Rachel shook her head as she ordered some Vietnamese fish soup. "Sorry Bruce. Until the Joker's dead, no can do."

Bruce continued walking at her right side as she headed back to the DA's office. "Rachel, it's more important to me that you live than the Joker receives justice. But you're living on the knife's edge—at any moment, they could decide you've outlived your usefulness."

She suddenly stopped, forcing the other pedestrians to walk around them. Turning to face him, she whispered: "I'm in too deep."

Bruce nodded. "I know, I was in the exact same situation as you're in now." His mind wandered back to when Ra's al-Gul wanted him to execute—murder—that farmer. "It's not too late."

A trace of uncertainty flickered in Rachel's eye… which suddenly turned to cold disdain. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to be here. We will _kill_ the Joker. And I don't care how many we have to eliminate before we do. So a word of advice: don't get in our way."

Bruce nodded tightly. "You know where to reach me."

She smirked in response. "If I do, it'll be a booty call." Rachel turned on her heels and crossed the street to the DA's office.

Bruce watched her cross the street, unable to keep his body from momentarily reacting to her words. _Lucky for you, I've got other alternatives._

* * *

Down at the docks on East End, there was a steady stream of workers making their way to the subways and bus stops on their way home from the end of another day's shift. At Pier 412 the battered but massive cargo ship _Italian Princess_ lay tied to the quay, bobbling gently in response to the rhythm of the waves.

With the final approach of night, shadowy figures appeared and made their way to the ship. Some rose from rubber dinghies by way of mooring ropes, stealthily climbing aboard. Others on shore quietly cut their way through the locked gates to enter by way of the ramps.

One by one sailors patrolling the decks were permanently silenced by the figures, their bodies dumped overboard. A moment later small explosions and the eruption of gunfire shattered the night. Inside the great ship, the figures, clad in black with night-vision goggles and submachine guns remorselessly cut down anyone in their path.

Those topside made their way down into the forward cargo hold by way of grappling ropes, just as their bretheren who entered the ship from the dock burst through the main entranceways at deck level. Moving swiftly among the stacks of goods over fifty feet high, they converged on the entry door to the midship cargo bay, where on the other side of the door lay their target.

Bursting through, they entered the darkened hold. Switching on the lights, they saw a Joker-style mannequin, propped up scarecrow-style, wearing a large white sign in red letters:

_**SURPRISE!**_

Seconds later the _Italian Princess _blew up in an explosion that was heard and felt from one end of Gotham to the other.

* * *

That evening when Rachel entered the facility there was no one there. _This is unusual._ "Hello?"

She entered the main operations room—a vicious backhand sent her sprawling to the ground. Stunned, she laid on the cold bare floor as someone grabbed her shirt from behind her neck and roughly brought her to her feet. The barrel of a gun pressed against the bridge of her nose, right between her eyes.

"Well well, look who's here?"

Rachel stumbled to her feet. "Janos? What's going on?"

Janos stepped back but still kept the gun pointed at her. "Answer this question or you die: why did you betray us?"

"What do you mean? I didn't betray you!"

Janos looked grim; his finger tightened on the trigger. "We were given information from a source that the rest of the underground in Gotham was hiding on a ship docked at the piers. I sent most of our teams to strike, but when they were all aboard the ship blew up – it was a trap. Twenty men gone."

"It wasn't me!"

"Really? My source said they got the information from you."

"Then they're lying! No one in the DA's office knows where Fazio and the rest of the mob are hiding."

"Interesting." He cocked the pistol. "But nothing you said proves you did not betray us."

Rachel had not felt any fear since being knocked down; in fact, she was getting angry. Raising her hands up in exasperation, she said acerbically: "If I wanted to betray you I could have told the police about this place a dozen times over. And why would I come back here after setting your men up?"

Janos said nothing, then finally lowered the gun. "Yes… you're right. Once you came in, I knew it wasn't you. But someone betrayed us."

"Any idea who?"

"Yes, but I hope I'm wrong – it would mean complications."

His words didn't make any sense, but the last thing she wanted to do was deflect blame back to herself. Quickly she asked: "What do we do now?"

"Including me, there are six of us left." He shrugged. "That so many died is not all bad, means more profit for the rest of us. The problem is, we can no longer carry out our mission."

That scared Rachel more than his threat to kill her. "What? We're not going to go after the Joker anymore?" _If not, then why still do this?_

"Yes and no. We cannot go after Joker now, especially because we do not know where he is. But we have enough men to carry out one more raid. As planned, we will kidnap Maroni and his family, then we use them as hostages."

"Hostages? Who are we going to ransom? The other Families wouldn't give us a nickel for their lives."

"True. We will extort our employers: the Mayor and the other fatcats of Gotham. Give us more money to hire additional men, or we report to the world our nefarious deeds."

Rachel nodded in understanding. "I see. They hired you through an intermediary, to preserve plausible deniability, except they made one mistake: me. Because they approached me directly, I can blow the entire operation."

Janos smiled. "Exactly. Now I would have threatened to kill you if you didn't go along, but I'm sure you'll still play along."

"Don't be so sure—"

"—in exchange for cooperating, we promise to continue hunting the Joker."

"Can you do it?"

"All we need to do is bring in new contractors. A few weeks delay only."

Rachel nodded. "Then we have a deal." They shook hands. "So, where is Maroni?"

"Hiding in plain sight. We will wait a few days before acting. In the mean time, I have a job for you: go see the Mayor, and test the waters—I need to know whether he's still with us, or will sell us out."

"I will. Just let me know when you get Maroni."

* * *

"Is this place clean?" She wasn't referring to upkeep.

"Trust me, Rachel, if you want to be boss in this town, you always have to have a secure place to make deals, where no one can snoop."

"Looks peaceful enough," Rachel said, taking in the views of the Mayor's vacation home in Black Plains, a very rich suburban area north of the Palisades, on the west side of the Gotham River across Gotham City.

"Tea?"

"No thanks."

The Mayor nodded grimly. "So what happened at the docks?"

"Janos and his men had a tip that the mob was hiding on that ship, they launched a raid and blew it up."

"Killing half a dozen dockworkers," the Mayor said grimly. "We've warned him to cut down on collateral damage, but…"

"He doesn't listen very well, I know."

"Did he get them?"

"Oh yes, they were all there. But he lost most of his men. He sent me here to make sure the money keeps coming so he can finish the job."

The Mayor shifted uncomfortably. "That's the thing. Money's not the issue—we have plenty of backers. But we've read the reports, the Joker's still loose. If he can't bag the prize…"

"He's going after one more target, to get as much info as he can from them before disposing of them. After that, he needs a new infusion of funds to get new people in to help finish the job."

The Mayor stirred his drink. Taking a sip, he said: "We'll see how it goes."

"Is that a yes?"

"A maybe. We'll talk again soon."

"Alright. It's been a pleasure." Rachel got up from her couch and headed for the door.

Mayor Garcia laughed mirthlessly as he watched Rachel go. _Women—who knew they could be as crazy as men?_ "Oh well, she'll be out of the picture soon enough," he said to the empty room.

Pouring one last drink before calling it an evening, the Mayor's hand froze in midair—all the lights went out. "What the—?"

—There was a sudden thump from upstairs. _Jesus!_ Garcia fumbled for his cellphone, dialed and waited. "Come on!" _What the hell were the guards doing outside—_

—a dark mass knocked him to the ground; his martini shattered upon impact. Rough hands grabbed him and threw him into a loveseat.

"Good evening, Mayor Garcia," the Batman rumbled.

"You're the Batman!"

"Very good. We need to talk."

"You need to die—"

"—we'll all die in good time. Before that time comes, however, you're going to do what I ask."

"If you think you can threaten me—"

"—Only if necessary."

"I'm not scared of you."

"Then why are you sweating? No answer? Good, because I'm here to help."

"I'm not going to—" Garcia's voice cut off as the Batman grabbed him by his collar and held him close.

"Where are they?"

"Who?"

"The mercenaries. Where are they working out of?"

"I don't know that."

"You lie!" He raised his hand to strike. Garcia desperately—pathetically—held up his arms in defense.

"No, no, it's true! We only deal with them through an intermediary, a guy named Smith."

"Where's Smith?"

"I don't know, he calls us, we don't call him." The Batman looked angry, and again raised his hand.

"Wait, why don't you follow Dawes? She's working with them, she'll lead you straight to them!"

The Batman paused. "I've tried. She's picked up near the DA's office, and her pickup gets lost in the downtown traffic."

"Wait, you can't put a trace on her?"

"Dawes is a pawn—I'm dealing with the king!" He let Garcia go.

Garcia cautiously got up to his feet. "If I get you the information, what will you do?"

"Bring them to justice."

"You mean kill them?"

"No. Trials."

"That's no good—"

"—they're mercenaries, probably foreigners. No ties to Gotham or the rest of the country. They're not Maroni, they have no leverage."

Slowly the Mayor nodded. "Quite true. But you'd have to get rid of Dawes, too—"

Batman backhanded Garcia, sending him flying backwards. "—if I won't kill mercenaries, why would I kill Dent's fiancée?"

Spitting blood, the Mayor hissed: "Because she can spill the beans, bring us all down—bring down all the work Dent's done."

"She won't do that. She won't betray Harvey that way."

"But if she's alive, those mercs will make her testify—"

"—I'll deal with all the loose ends." Batman threw down a cell phone. "Give me their hideout in a week's time, or I'll be back for you." Without another word the Batman opened the living room doors and disappeared out into the garden.

* * *

Two days later, Mayor Garcia, showing no signs of his encounter with the Batman, was having a late-night cocktail with Bruce Wayne. "We should do this more often, Bruce." They were sitting out on the porch, under a brilliant night sky, the distant lights of Gotham off to the east.

_That's Mister Wayne to you, bud,_ Bruce thought crossly, but he let it go. Flashing a vapid smile he said: "Who's got time these days?"

Garcia laughed and drank some more. "Seriously, you said this was urgent."

"It's about the Batman." Garcia choked as the tequilia he was drinking went down the wrong pipe. "Easy there," Bruce said as he slapped him across the back.

Gurgling, the Mayor held up a hand. "Didn't have to hit me that hard. What about the Batman?"

Bruce dropped his amiable expression, now all business. "Last night, he broke in here and threatened me regarding the, and I quote, 'death squads running around my city.' Is there something you haven't been telling me?"

Garcia laughed. "He's being a bit melodramatic—it's his style." Bruce continued to look skeptical. "With your money and everyone else's, we hired some outside experts to take care of the Joker."

"So all the exploding buildings, ships, police stations, and dead mobsters and cops washing up out of the sewers—that's their handiwork?"

"They have been a bit messier than advertised—"

"—we have to put an end to them."

"A point you, me, and apparently the Batman are all in agreement with. The question is, how."

"Commissioner Gordon."

"No—he's a good man, good cop, and that's why we can't trust him."

"Because our hands are dirty?"

Garcia laughed and raised his hands in front of his face. "I don't know about you, but my hands are clean as a whistle, and I sleep just fine at night."

"So do I, but if we don't stop these guys they'll bring us all down."

"Can't disagree."

"So? What's the plan?"

Garcia fell silent. He then pulled out the cellphone the Batman left him. "The Batman said he'd take care of it, call him when we had their hideout."

Bruce smiled and pulled out an identical cellphone from his jacket. "Go on."

The Mayor's eyes widened. Nodding, he continued: "I talked it over with my friends, and we made an offer to Smith, our contact with the mercenaries. Instead of giving additional funds to them, we paid off Smith to rat out the mercs."

"Sounds expensive."

"You don't want to know. Anyway, here's the address." Garcia showed him a piece of paper with an address written on it.

"Just north of the Narrows."

"The only question is, to whom do we give the honor of wiping them out? The police, the National Guard, another outside group, or the Batman?"

"Hmm. Law enforcement is risky, because they might start investigating. Hiring a second group of mercenaries to eliminate the first group of mercenaries—that's how we got into trouble in the first place." Bruce smiled. "Do you want to make the call or shall I?"

"By all means, go ahead." Bruce dialed; a harsh voice on the other line said: "Leave your message." Bruce read the name of the address and hung up. As soon as he did so, the phone flared up and ignited. Hoping he looked panicked, he quickly dropped it onto the patio, where it sizzled against the marble.

"Jesus!" Garcia backed away. "I guess it's out of our hands now."

"Let's hope the Batman succeeds."

"Actually, let's hope they all kill each other off."

Despite the act, Bruce couldn't get himself to say something in agreement. "Perhaps we should call it a night," he said instead.

Garcia nodded. "Sorry this venture didn't turn out as expected, better luck next time."

"Better luck next time." Noting his staggered movements, Bruce said: "Do you need a driver?"

"No, my sister's waiting in the car to take me home."

"Gotcha." He watched as Garcia stumbled and bumbled to his car, and waited until his vehicle had disappeared from view before heading down into the Cave.

* * *

For the rest of the week Bruce played private investigator as he hovered within eyesight of where Rachel lived and worked. During the workweek, Rachel had gone to work, then came home and stayed the night, until repeating the next day. The lack of sleep was getting to him, but grimly he maintained his covert vigil.

That Sunday evening, as Bruce played a panhandler seeking a handout on a corner across the street from her place, he spotted out of the corner of his eye Rachel emerge from her apartment. She was dressed as if going to work—white blouse, black silk pants—but she was moving with an unusual sureness and speed. _She's going out—and not for a night at the ballet._ Moving nondescriptly so as not to bring attention to himself, he faded into a nearby backalley, where there was a small scooter concealed under a false-dumpster. Casting off his hobo clothes, he sped off to the nearest hideaway, where a complete Batsuit and Tumbler lay waiting to take him to tonight's main event.

* * *

"Once more, where is the Joker?"

"Go to hell."

Janos shrugged and belted Maroni in the stomach with the crowbar. He clutched over and groaned loudly, spitting out some blood.

Janos pulled up a chair and sat in front of Maroni, whose eyes were blackened and his nose trickled blood. Sweat pouring down the sides of his head, Maroni was completely tied down to the chair he sat in, but to his credit did not struggle.

"I must commend you on your evasiveness," Janos said conversationally. "Your wife and daughters were not there when we raided your house."

"Maronis are survivors."

"Unfortunately, your elder son wasn't so lucky."

Cold anger flashed in Maroni's eyes, but he did not explode. "Bruno fought for his Family. He knows what's important in this world. Honor, respect!"

Janos brightened. "Don't you mean money? Now, our friends haven't paid us nearly as much as you paid the clown."

Maroni grunted with frustration. "If you wanted to do business, all you had to do was ask."

"The offer is still on the table. The Joker for your life. Deal? No deal?"

"I'm tellin' ya, it's Joe! Joe's the Joker's contact!"

"How did you know that, if you weren't making deals with Joker?"

Maroni laughed bitterly. "Fazio's sloppy, I know everything the Frog does."

"But not how to contact this Joe, eh?"

"Give me a few days, I'll take care of it, no problem, okay?"

Janos shook his head. "Not okay." He pointed to the door off to the right. "You see that? You don't want to go in there. Tell me more before I send you in."

"What's so bad about that door?"

"Once you go in, you don't come out."

"Kill me here or there, doesn't matter to me."

"Oh it matters. My friend in there… she's not as nice as I am."

"She?"

"It will be very unpleasant if you go there."

"You know what, I don't give a damn anymore. Let's get this over with, then I'll wait for you in hell."

"Haha very funny." Janos shook his head. "Okay you ask for it, you get it!" Janos snapped his fingers, and two of his men dragged him inside.

The room was dark, but as the door shut behind him the lights came on. He was not alone; there was another young man, dressed in a suit, tied up just as he was.

It took a second for Maroni to recognize who it was; when he did so he was horrified. "Antoni! What happened?"

His youngest son was gagged; profuse amounts of sweat poured down his fair-skinned forehead.

"Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I'll get us out of here—"

"—I wouldn't bet on that." A female voice called out from the shadows. It sounded familiar. "Don't recognize me? How about now?" She stepped out of the darkness; to his horror, Maroni was staring at a woman who on the right side of her face was a pretty young thing, and on the left—a charred, singed horror of human remains.

Maroni still didn't recognize her, but it came to him in an instant. "Jesus!"

"Do you like my new look? I'm getting used to it myself."

"Dawes? You're that ADA, the broad dating Dent!"

"Not exactly. More like his widow." She strode over to Antoni and began tossling his hair with her fingers. "What a handsome son you have."

"He's an architect, completely outside the Family business, you have no right bringing him here!"

"On the contrary, history has shown threatening innocent loved ones is a good way to get people to comply."

Maroni was completely confused. "Who are you guys? Is that skinny creep a rogue detective?"

"Much worse." She walked up and sat next to him. "We're here to take out the Joker. I believe you can help us in that regards."

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"You will regret it if you don't. After all, isn't one of your sons already dead thanks to us?"

Maroni let loose a stream of foul curses at Rachel, who merely stared back at him impassively. When he was spent, she said: "That wasn't what I was looking for."

She turned around and ungagged Antoni, who immediately cried out: "Pop! What the hell's going on? What happened to Bruno? Where's Mom, Patti and Lori?"

"It's nothing, son, don't worry," Maroni said.

"If you don't want anything to happen to him, you'd better talk."

"I'm telling you, it was Joe, Joe! That's all I know!"

"We'll see."

* * *

From a distant tower Batman surveyed the nondescript building whose address Garcia provided. It was an unremarkable lowrise structure, about three stories high with a first-floor garage, completely dark. There were two men patrolling the exterior of the complex, and he had detected signs of at least one other moving on the upper floors. Building plans showed that there was a large abandoned underground tank facility adjacent to the basement of this building—a perfect place to house and supply a large urban strike force.

Extending the ribs of his cape, he launched himself into the cool night air, descending swiftly towards his target, the roof of the building. He grimaced upon contact—these landings were hell on his knees. _Won't have any cartilage left before long._ Wearily he got up and looked for a rooftop entrance—there was none. He crept to the edge of the building, doing his best not to make a sound but betrayed by the creak of brittle roof tiles that broke under his boots.

Fortunately there was no response from within. Peering down, there was a large, dusty set of windows which weren't boarded up. Batman lowered himself over the side with a wire and saw that there were no security devices attached to the window. Taking out a tool from his belt, he gently shimmed the locks open and lifted the window, then went inside. He was in a large empty office space, with a single door on the other side. It was unlocked.

Pleased by his good fortune, Batman went down the hall to the main stairwell. Peering down, he saw the movement of a single guard, who was patrolling the base of the stairwell. He went down one floor, then pondered the best way to take out the guard. _By the direct approach._

At the opportune time, he hurled himself down the stairwell and landed with a smashing thud atop the guard. He barely had time to scream when Batman grabbed his head and smashed it into the floor, causing him to go instantly limp. Binding his arms and gagging his foe, he quickly surveyed his equipment: black suit, mask with goggles, standard body armor, a radio and a submachine gun. Turning off the radio, he made his way to the main entrance.

Batman briefly wondered how to take out the two guards. _Keep it simple stupid. _He opened the door and let it swing open, then hid off to the side. Sure enough, a few minutes later one of the guards came in. He was relaxed, not suspecting anything; it only took him a few seconds to put him down. He had gotten to his feet when the radio at the guard's side chirped with activity—someone was speaking in an East European language. Just as he whirled to the entrance the other guard burst in with lights on his helmet brightening the scene; they collided, with the guard squeezing the trigger and letting off a brief burst that fortunately missed. Because he was holding the gun, the guard momentarily did not have use of his hands; it was all the time Batman needed to wrestle him to the ground and knock him out.

Calming himself, Batman went back inside. Descending the stairs, he found himself in a small basement. At the far end of the basement a large hole had been cut in the wall; he carefully made his entrance. There was about a five foot passage filled with dirt, then he was suddenly met with a large grey steel wall, with a pressure door at the other end. Fiddling, he managed to get it open and step inside. As he did so, he thought he heard the faint sound of gunfire from above, but he ignored it.

* * *

Antoni Maroni screamed as electricity coursed through his body. When Rachel shut off the circuit he collapsed in his chair, weeping.

"Goddamnit let him go!" the elder Maroni shouted. Smiling, Rachel turned his attention back to him.

"Did you say something?" she mused.

"I told you everything I know, everything anyone knows about Joe."

"What does he look like? Where does he live?"

Maroni looked near tears. Choking, he said: "I dunno, short guy, blonde hair, nothing special, looks like any dude off the street. When the Joker escaped that ferry situation, he disappeared for a while. We all thought—hoped—he was dead, but then this guy Joe meets us, says he speaks for the Joker."

Rachel smiled brightly. "See, I knew you were holding back! Just a second." Rachel turned the dial on, and Antoni started to scream again.

"What are you doing?!"

"It's set to a low current, he'll be fine—for a while. You were saying?"

Maroni looked at her with murder in his eyes. Rachel shrugged. "The longer you stay silent, the longer Antoni fries."

Maroni started speaking rapidly, barely audible over his son's cries. "A week later, Joe meets up with Rico, bringing a necklace of the Chechen's and a ring from Lau… with a burned finger still attached." Involuntarily Rachel reached up to touch her own fried face. "Said the Joker made it out, and that he'd talk through Joe, that he'd be running things."

"What did Joe tell you to do? What were your instructions?"

"He, he told us all to sit tight and lay low, that he was gonna take care of Batman and the police." Now he pleaded. "And that's absolutely, 100% everything I or anyone else knows."

Rachel looked at him critically, then smiled. "Thanks, Sal, that was very helpful." She went over and turned off the current; Antoni gasped for air, but was otherwise alive.

Maroni tried to smile. "So, can we go?"

"Here's the thing—" there was the sound of gunfire in the distance. A moment later Janos popped in. "Trouble?"

"The Batman, he's here," Janos said tightly.

"Okay. Please capture him alive if you can."

"What?"

"I'll explain later. Now will you excuse me?" Janos nodded and left.

Maroni had a crooked grin. "Batman here, whaddya know."

"You think he'd risk his life to save scum like you?" she asked.

"Oh no, Miss District Attorney, Mrs. Rachel Harvey Dent Dawes," he said sarcastically. "But I do think he'd risk his life to put down scum like you."

Rachel looked at him, then shrugged. "My new associates may be in for a rough time, but he can't touch me."

"Really? We've studied this Batman guy; he hates crooked cops and lawyers as much as wise guys, maybe more so. You've thrown it all away to play Assassin, so after tonight, say hello to my buddies in Blackgate."

Rachel laughed heartily. "All true, but I know something you don't know." She opened the top button of her blouse. "I know who the Batman is—in fact, I've been sleeping with him."

Maroni looked properly stunned. "Do you wanna know who he is?" He nodded.

Rachel leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Batman is Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne? Bruce Wayne is Batman?!"

"Uh-huh." Rachel smiled. "Of course, now that you know his secret, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you." She went over to the table and picked up a revolver.

"No, wait!"

"You're right, I won't kill you." Looking straight at him, she cocked her arm and fired her pistol at Antoni. The bullet caught him in the chest; with a gasp he sagged back against the chair and was still.

"No Antoni!" Rachel then pointed the gun at him and fired again, catching him in the throat. Maroni gargled as blood spurted across the room. Putting the gun on the table, she came up to him and whispered in his ear.

"Oops I lied. But at least you should stay alive long enough to see dear sweet Antoni die first." Maroni strained to respond, but Rachel had already left the room.

* * *

Batman ran as fast as he could through the tangle of pipes and tanks. Two gunmen were in pursuit, stitching the ground behind him with automatic fire. Turning the corner, he grabbed at a ladder and began climbing up as quickly as possible. He just made it to the next level when one of the gunmen turned the corner and fired his way; the bullets impacted the pipe to his left, spewing steam.

Taking advantage of the momentary cover, he began climbing up to the next level. The other gunmen had joined him, and they climbed up the ladder to the level below him. Batman then deliberately made himself visible; they both fired, but he was already behind a wall. One of the gunmen then began climbing up the ladder to his level, while the other gunmen stood below giving cover.

Smiling grimly, Batman took out a detonator and pressed the button. The small plastic explosive charges he left behind on the rungs of the ladder exploded, severing the ladder and sending the first gunmen tumbling to the floor ten feet below. His partner jumped to the side to avoid being crushed by the falling debris; Batman took advantage of his distraction to leap down and knock him out cold. Quickly disarming him, he made sure the first gunmen was still alive (he was), then grimly made his way back to the main antechamber.

Opening the door, he was back at the main floor, where there were crates of supplies stacked against one wall. The opposite wall was bare, but he could clearly see bloodstains on the wall, no doubt where the previous victims of the mercenaries had been executed.

The opposite door flew open and a thin blonde man entered, dressed as the gunmen he had dispatched. "Say goodbye, Mister Batman," he sneered, but before he could raise his submachine gun, there was a loud gunshot. The final gunman grimaced and fell to the ground; Rachel stood behind him, lowering her pistol.

"Rachel!" As Batman took a step towards her she fired at him, hitting him in the belly. The armor of his suit just barely prevented penetration, but it could not prevent the energy and momentum of the bullet from smashing into him. As if punched in the stomach he staggered and fell. Striding up to him she kicked him in the groin, which didn't hurt because he was protected, but kept him from regaining his balance.

"Poor, poor, Bruce," Rachel said sadly. "Never know when to quit, do you?"

"Rachel," he gasped. Getting to his feet, Rachel simply stood before him, gun at her side. "What, what is this?"

She smiled and gestured around. "My vengeance. My justice. If you go into the next room, you'll see the latest victims of justice—Maroni and his son."

Bruce staggered, not just because of the bullet impact. "How could you?"

"It was… the _right_ thing to do."

"I don't believe it!"

Rachel shrugged. "What's done is done." She dropped the gun. "So, are you here to arrest me?"

"First tell me, how many of them were here? Are there any more?"

"Janos here said there were six, including him. I saw two other guards when I got here, but I don't know about the other three."

"They're down, I took them out coming in."

"So that's all of them. What are you going to do?" Before he could answer, there was a burst of gunfire behind them. Then another.

"Who's that?" Rachel asked. "Did you tell Gordon?"

"No." A moment later the door began to open.

"Get behind me." Rachel did so. When the door opened, a black-garbed man, resembling the gunmen he had taken out except for a large gas-mask which covered his features, entered, brandishing a submachine gun.

"Who are you?" Batman asked.

"Hello Rachel. Batman. _Bruce._"

Rachel gasped; Batman simply stared. _It sounds like him, but it couldn't be—_

The gunman slowly removed his mask. A tussle of blonde hair spilled out; dark eyes stared back, the man's chin strong and grim—

"Harvey?" Rachel whispered.

* * *

**_Coming next: the last chapter!_**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

"In the flesh."

"But, they said you were dead!"

"Close, but not quite." Harvey Dent took a step towards them. "The cops who came for me, thinking they were coming for you, got me out of the room before it blew up. I got singed, but I survived." He gestured to his back, wincing in pain. "Second-degree burns all up and down my backside. Took a page out of Jim Gordon's playbook, and played dead till we could get the Joker."

"Harvey, listen to me—"

Dent fired a round at Batman's feet. "Shut up. Bet your wondering why I didn't get word to you, Rachel, that I was okay. Because I heard you on the radio before the bombs went off. You remember what you said, don't you?"

Behind him Rachel had come to Bruce's side. She stared at Harvey as if she were in a dream, a dazed look on her face. "I said, 'Bruce, oh no, not me'".

"Exactly – _Bruce._ It all made sense then—why the Batman took such special interest in you during the Narrows crisis, why you didn't accept my proposal the first time—in Wayne's pad, no less. Everything fits."

She walked slowly up to him. "Harvey, I only loved you—I told Bruce it was over between us, that I would choose you—"

—With a loud SMACK he struck her across the face with his gun, dropping Rachel to the ground. "Harvey!" Bruce yelled; he took a step towards him, but stopped with the barrel of the gun pointed straight at his face.

"Not now, Wayne, we're going to have it out soon enough. Back off." Bruce did so.

"You lying bitch," Dent yelled. "While I was recovering they told me about where you were spending your nights, your little visits to Wayne Manor. I'm sure everything was great for you two once I was out of the way."

"No, I didn't know, I needed you, I missed you—"

"Save it, sister." Dent turned his attention to Batman. "Good job, Bruce, no one ever suspected you."

"Why didn't you let the Mayor know then?"

Dent laughed bitterly. "Because despite cuckolding me, I believed in you. I thought you had what it takes. But you didn't, did you? When Garcia used Gordon to get the word to you that we'd back away if you solved the Joker problem, what did you do? You refused, saying you wouldn't kill."

Bruce taunted: "There's a law against that, don't you remember?"

"You're one to talk about obeying the laws," Dent shot back. "But you have the right idea—if you're going to break the law, do it in the shadows, with your hands out of sight. Garcia and I agreed, we'd bring in outside help to do the job you couldn't."

"Then why get Rachel involved?"

Dent chuckled. "I admit, I'm as surprised as you are she did. Garcia advised against it, but I was curious to see how she'd react," he said, pointing at Rachel, who was slowly crawling on hands and knees to Harvey. He squatted down on his knees to face her. "You did good, Rachel. Even if we didn't get the Joker, with your help we've cleaned out a lot of Gotham's trash."

Bruce was thunderstruck. "Harvey, you're the DA of Gotham! How could you possibly decide to do, to do… this?"

Dent stroked his chin contemplatively. "I suppose since this is the night of revealing secrets, I have a few to share of my own. Let's just say, to get ahead in this world, whether you're talking about the law or business or whatnot, you gotta bend the rules to get there."

Bruce remembered his shock at the Batman finding Dent playing Russian roulette with one of the assassins he caught. _I should have known then…_

Dent got back to his feet and cocked his gun at Batman. "So, how does this story end? I could kill you and Rachel. Or if we just burn this place down, all of us can just walk away scot-free."

"There has to be justice for what happened, what you did," Bruce growled.

"Oh really? You're gonna bring me down, just because I played a little rough?"

"Stop with the metaphors, you hired men to kill, and they killed dozens—"

"—don't kill him, Harvey." Rachel slowly rose to her feet, now standing a few feet away from Dent.

"Sorry, Rachel, it's over between us."

"Now that you're back from the dead, it's time we lived," Rachel said slowly, with a husky voice that was by-now quite familiar to Bruce.

Dent looked furious; his jaw quivered, and he finally said in a tight voice: "We were _together!_ And you cheated on me! With _him!_"

"I'm so sorry, darling, but think about what happened. Bruce—Batman—saved me, but I was terribly injured. The Joker did bad things to me when I was in the hospital, and he got away." A tear rolled down Dent's cheek. "From that moment on, every part of my mind and body had only one goal: avenge your death by killing the Joker." She looked at Bruce, and her half-face became hard. "I hated Bruce because he failed to save you, but I did everything I could to get him to do what you said you wanted him to do—kill the Joker."

"It didn't work," Dent said sourly, "so you went to the next level, obviously."

Rachel tossed her head to make her hair flutter, and then unbuttoned another button on her blouse. "For the record, I never did it before with Bruce—you were my first, I loved only you."

"Huh. Not only me."

Rachel became agitated. "You were willing to do anything to get the Joker—so was I. Despite the fact that it repulsed me, I let Wayne have me to get information about the mob. It meant nothing, Harvey, nothing!"

Dent frowned and trained his gun on Rachel. "Tell me with a straight face you didn't enjoy it, and I won't kill you."

Rachel half-smiled and fully unbuttoned her blouse. Then she slipped her left arm out, so it half-hung on her body. "I have to be totally honest with you, Harvey… it did feel good." The gun trembled in his hand, but he did not fire. "But it was nothing like being with you. Afterwards I felt _nothing _for him." She gave Bruce a contemptuous look. "Bruce was such a wuss. Not like you, Harvey; you're a _real _man, and every time I was with him, I was thinking of the times you were having me, taking me, against my will." Smiling, she licked one of her fingers. "You remember the last time—how I was pleading and crying for you to stop, but you didn't, you just took what you wanted, and afterwards, how much I loved it. You remember darling, right?"

Bruce's stomach curdled but he said nothing. "I… I'm sorry, Rachel, but I just can't… you and him. Unless…" Dent pointed the gun at Bruce. "Turnabout's fair play."

"No, don't kill him!" Rachel suddenly moved in front of Bruce.

Enraged, Dent yelled: "See! You're still with him!"

"Don't kill him, because we can use him!"

Bruce seethed; Dent suddenly looked interested. "Go on."

Rachel slowly walked over to Dent. "Once we clean up things here, we can use Bruce as the Batman to do everything necessary to clean up Gotham. Think about it—our hands stay clean, and Batman can take the fall."

"Intriguing idea. What do you say about that, Bruce?"

"I'd say go ahead and kill me then."

"No, no, Rachel's right. Think about it, Wayne, between you and me the mob doesn't stand a chance. We can clean up Gotham in a year! And put the Joker's head on a pike as a cherry on top!"

"I don't work with killers," he said flatly, looking at Rachel. Then he looked at Dent. "Or those who hire killers."

Dent looked surprised. Lowering his gun, he implored: "Bruce, Bruce, why are you so hung up about that? Do you condemn the police, even though dozens of innocent civilians are accidentally killed by them every year?"

"Accidents aren't the same thing as executions!"

"Come on, we're a team, remember? You me and Gordon, we made a pact to clean up Gotham. We just got sidetracked, that's all!"

"You call this—" Bruce gestured around the room "—getting sidetracked?"

"Yep, and it's time to move forward." Dent raised his gun, pointing it at Bruce. "I'm afraid you have no alternative. Play along, or die."

"Then go ahead and kill me. Tell the whole world. In fact—" Bruce did the unprecedented and began removing his cowl. "Let everyone know about Batman. By the time the lawsuits are done with me, Bruce Wayne will be the most hated man in America. Everything about me ruined." He threw his cowl on the ground. "But I'd rather that happen, then fall in with your scheme."

Rachel looked confused. She stared at Dent nervously, who finally smiled. "Well, two can play at that game." Abruptly he dropped his gun. "Go ahead and stop us. If we're guilty, take us in to be punished. Throw away my legacy, Rachel's. Let it all burn down, and let the mob win. Let the Joker win."

Bruce did not respond. _I'm guilty, too. But I put Dent on that pedestal. I can't bring him down without making all my work useless. _"I have an alternative."

Dent snorted. "Nothing. Thought so. Rachel, start cleaning things up, and then we're leaving. We'll let you know what you have to do next."

Bruce had to stop them, but he still hesitated, unwilling to bring it all down now that he knew Dent was alive. _God forgive me. _"She lied to you, Harvey," he called out.

Dent froze in his tracks. "What?"

Bruce twisted the knife deeper, though it pierced them all. "Rachel's always loved me, even when she was with you."

Dent threw Rachel a dirty look, but then crookedly smiled. He said: "All right, you hit it good with her, but it was my fault. I forgive her, end of story." He turned away.

"Even before the Joker burned her, burned you, she told me that when the day came that Gotham no longer needed Batman, that we could be together." _I hate myself!_ "She told me that the night before the press conference when you pretended to be Batman."

Dent stared. Then he turned to Rachel. "Is this true?"

"Harvey, it was nothing—"

"—she even wrote me a note reaffirming it. I can show it to you if you like."

Rachel looked scared. "He's lying, I thought he would never give it up, I wanted to let him down easy—"

"—so once we succeed, she'll come back to me, no matter what you think!"

"No!" Dent launched himself at Bruce, who defended himself as best he could, taking care not to harm Dent. "I'll kill you!"

"Harvey, listen to me, I have an idea—"

"—Shut up! You lousy bastard, I should have killed you—"

A third voice: "—indeed you should have. Now it's too late." Dent and Bruce stopped fighting; across the room, the man Rachel had shot was now standing behind her, holding a gun to her throat.

"Janos, let me go!"

"Sorry no." Harvey and Bruce got to their feet; Dent pulled out a pistol from his side and pointed it at him.

"Harvey, put the gun down!"

"Yes, Mister Dent, put the gun down or your dear sweet Rachel dies." Janos smiled and whispered into her ear: "A tip for the future, dear: always shoot at skin."

"No deal," Dent said as he aimed his pistol at Janos.

"You mean, no choice _but_ a deal." He slowly backed up towards the exit. "Smith must have sold us out, meaning you paid him enough to make it worth your while. No matter, there is no problem money cannot solve. Pay us one hundred million, we release our hostage, and the deal is done."

"Stop now," Bruce growled.

"Ah yes, Mister Wayne! Never know when fortune smiles on you. Our representatives will be in touch with your office soon enough. I'm thinking, fifty million for the next ten years should be enough to keep our mouths shut."

Dent aimed for the ceiling about Janos and fired; Janos almost pulled the trigger, but was disciplined enough not to. "My final warning—let her go, or I'll kill you."

"As you Americans like to say, over her dead body." He jammed the gun deeper into Rachel neck.

"Shoot the bastard, I'm no good!" Rachel shouted.

"Let them go, Harvey, we'll deal with this later."

"No," Dent said resolutely, "that attitude's what's gotten Gotham into the trouble it's in. I'm drawing the line here."

"Enough talk; I go now. Drop the gun, or she never leaves."

Dent glowered at Janos, then abruptly dropped his pistol. Smiling, Janos slowly backed up to the door. He reached down to open the door; fumbling with the lock, his eyes darted down for an instant.

In that instant Harvey whipped out a gun from behind his back. He and Janos fired simultaneously.

"No!" Bruce cried. As the proverbial smoke cleared, there were three bodies on the ground: Janos had taken a bullet to his carotid artery; Harvey's body was twitching after Janos' shot smashed into his left cheek; and Rachel—

"Rachel, Rachel!" Bruce bounded over to her and cradled her in his arms. Harvey's shot had gone through her throat and exited the back of her neck, killing Janos. Blood spurted profusely, as Rachel struggled to remain conscious.

"It's okay, Rachel, just relax," Bruce said as he frantically searched for something to stem the flow of blood."

"Harvey…" Rachel bubbled weakly.

"He'll be fine, just stay with me. Stay with me, and you'll be together, I promise."

"Bruce…what have I done?"

"Don't talk!"

"I'm sorry…" she reached up and touched his cheek.

"Stay with me!"

Coughing, Rachel spat out more blood. Her right eyelid fluttered and she slumped over.

"No! Rachel, wake up, wake up!" Bruce slapped her, shook her.

Rachel's right eye widened, until it was as wide-open as her lidless left. Coughing, she said softly: "Forgive me Bruce… you were right.. about everything… I… love you too…" Her body then shuddered and went limp in his arms.

"Rachel! RACHEL!" Bruce screamed. But Rachel was still, her right eye closed while her left eye stared baldly back.

Bruce Wayne pulled the body of Rachel Dawes to him, rocking back and forth as he cradled her face in his hands and wept uncontrollably.

* * *

**Epilogue**

EXCLUSIVE: BATMAN BEHIND GOTHAM DEATH SQUADS!

Having just addressed the frenzied mob of reporters, Mayor Garcia retired to his office to read the morning papers with mounting delight—they all told the shocking story of how Gotham police had uncovered the secret hideout of the mercenaries terrorizing Gotham, and found mountains of evidence that the Batman was the force behind them all. Tragically a secret investigating team from the DA's office had suffered great loss as assistant DA Rachel Dawes had been killed by the Batman, and District Attorney Dent—who had faked his death to protect himself while investigating the Joker—seriously injured…

_Sometimes, even when something goes bad, it turns out all right in the end._ He could not have imagined a way to wrap things up as cleanly as it was: all the mercenaries dead, along with Dawes; the records destroyed; and Dent keeping quiet. _We 'fatcats', as those damn liberal rags like to call us, have a knack for winning more than losing!_

He took out a Cuban and lit it up, smoking profusely. _I wonder how Dent pinned it all on the Batman._ No matter; with the entire Gotham police force enraged at the Dark Knight for killing all their crooked (and non-crooked) brethren, he wouldn't be a threat much longer. _Even the mob is on the run!_

The only downside, apart from Dent's injuries, was the fact that the Joker was still loose. _Maybe the Batman and the Joker were in cahoots?_ If so, that could be a problem. Still, no matter how disruptive, he was just one crazy guy.

He buzzed his secretary. "Claire, cancel my schedule for the rest of the day." A good day like this was better spent yachting with his billionaire benefactors than doing actual work. _Good days ahead indeed!_

* * *

"Please, let me go!"

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I did everything he told me to!"

"Is that right?"

"Yeah it is," said Joe Smith the Facilitator. Fazzio lifted his head in relief, hoping against hope that he'd make it. Next to him, a clown tsked-tsked.

"Well, one the one hand I have to trust my people," the Joker said, running a hand through his wavy green hair. Fazzio smiled. "On the other hand—"

—the Joker took out his pistol and blasted Fazzio between the eyes. A look of shocked surprise was frozen on his face as he slumped to the ground.

"Looks like the Frog croaked! Ha ha ha ha ha!" Joe Smith and the other two henchmen laughed along uneasily, but the Joker hardly noticed. With a flourish he jumped onto the couch and kicked up his legs, staring happily at the ceiling.

"You set it up real good," Joe Smith said.

"I'm just damn good at what I do, that's all." The Joker's smile hid his disappointment at his incomplete victory: while the police had been humiliated and the mob all-but-crushed, the Batman was still on the playing field, although being hunted down like never before. And Dent was still alive, recovering and still in mourning for the death of his beau. Against his better judgment he decided to indulge in a little logic.

_Batman and Dent were crazy about that broad. Now that the Batman has been charged in her murder, DA Dent's not gonna be a happy camper! _If he was lucky, one of them would kill the other; if he was _real_ lucky, they would _both_ become homicidal maniacs. _Like me!_

He sighed. _Such a shame I don't know who the Batman is._ But on second thought, it's better this way. _After all, I'm so ahead of the game with him, I have to give him some handicap. _

It was all good. "Gentlemen, tomorrow is going to be even better than today! Hahahahahaha!"

* * *

Jim Gordon pointed his gun at the Batman. "I guess this is it, then."

"I guess so. If you're certain, pull the trigger. You'll be a hero."

Slowly Gordon lowered his gun. Without saying another word he turned away and looked out into the night. "Why?"

"We have to make the best of a bad situation."

"That's the understatement of the century."

"He's still Gotham's white knight, on the outside at least. As long as we keep him on the pedestal, nice and clean, it'll all work out."

"But you're saying that it's all a lie. Underneath it all…"

"Garcia acted with the best of intentions. So did his backers. So did Dent."

"And Miss Dawes?"

The Batman was silent. When he spoke, he sounded pained: "She made some very bad choices. And paid the price for it." He paused. "I'll take the fall for everyone this time. Hopefully I won't have to do it again."

Gordon turned back to face him. "But it wasn't you!"

Now the Batman turned away. "It's better this way."

Gordon pinched his nose in frustration. "You don't have to take the blame for everything. If we're going to cook the books, why not make them shine like silver instead of smelling like sh—you know?"

Turning around, the Batman smiled at Gordon's use of the well-known metaphor for financial fraud in Gotham. But his words were somber: "Because ultimately it's still all my fault."

"No it isn't—"

"—if I had stopped the Joker back at the ferries, none of this would have happened. As long as Dent does the right thing, we can salvage this disaster of my making, and still save Gotham."

"What about Dent and his powerful friends?" Gordon asked uneasily.

"Hopefully they learned not to try and swim in the sewers anymore." The Batman came up to him. "From now on, do everything above-ground, and we'll get it done."

"What about you? Everyone now hates you. You'll be hunted. If they catch you…"

"Don't worry about me. First, get the Joker. Then keep going after the mob. And…"

"What?"

"Keep an eye on Dent. Beyond that, we'll see. I can't predict the future."

"Too bad." Gordon thought about it some more, then made his decision. "You saved Dent, and since you've taken the fall, that means for better or worse we'll have to follow his lead. But I want you to know something."

"What?"

Gordon offered his hand. "I believe in the Batman."

The Batman said nothing; Gordon could not read his features behind the mask, but damned if he didn't think his eyes were getting moist! Then he reached out and shook. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Without another word the Batman took off and left.

_Now I have to pretend I believe in Dent,_ Gordon thought sadly. Assuming what the Batman said was true—and he believed him—Dent was far worse than even Flass and all the others. _Plus the Mayor and all the fatcats too._ But if Dent decided to play it level and fight the mob cleanly, everything would be okay. If not…

…_we may still need the Batman, even if he doesn't owe us anything more. _He shook his head again in marvel at what the Batman was willing to do for the people of Gotham. _What kind of man could be so strong, so giving?_

Gordon hoped he would know the secret before he—or the Batman—died, but he had a chilly suspicion his hope would not come to pass.

* * *

All the attendees had finally left, allowing Bruce and Alfred to spend one last moment alone at Rachel's graveside.

"I failed you, Rachel," Bruce cried, tears flowing, his voice choked with more grief and pain than Alfred had ever heard another man speak. "I loved you, but I couldn't save you."

He dropped down to the ground, clutching the wet earth in his hands, weeping. Alfred let him do this for some time, then when Bruce finally fell silent, bent down and gently said, "We should go Bruce."

To his surprise Bruce quickly picked himself up and sniffed. "All right. Let's go."

It was a grim drive back to Wayne Manor. Bruce dwelled on the memory of Rachel's open casket. Thanks to the heroic efforts of the best morticians in Gotham, Rachel's lovely features had finally been restored; no longer was she Janos-faced, but still, peaceful, and whole. _As if her sins had been washed away. If only..._

Again Bruce cursed his failure to check if that mercenary had been truly neutralized; had it been so, he might have been able to convince Rachel and Harvey to go along with his original plan of taking responsibility, to get them off the hook. _The litany of her crimes casts a shadow from the grave—over me. No longer her burden, they will be mine for the rest of my days._

"As Batman," he said softly to himself.

"You said something, sir?"

"No, nothing."

"Bruce, what's really troubling you?"

Normally Bruce would ignore such a question, either because he didn't have the answer or because he didn't want to say. But in this case, he _did_ have and answer, and he decided he _did _ want to speak. "What's really troubling me is that the last thing I did with Rachel and Harvey together was try to turn them against each other, using Rachel's words against him."

"Ah, the letter she wrote."

"Yes." In retrospect, he had done it in haste, panicked at the thought that Harvey and Rachel would leave and become partners in crime. _I'm willing to take the fall for a lot of things, but not for that!_ "I thought I was doing it to make sure they would not continue to do criminal acts together." He paused. "But I have to admit, when I found out Harvey was alive, part of me also wanted to make sure Rachel would not go back to him."

"Do you think that would have happened?"

"I don't know." _Was she faking it?_ If so she definitely had him fooled. Then he shook his head. "Had she not done the things she did, I'm sure Rachel would never have approved of Harvey's actions." _And then chosen me?_

"Yet do you think Harvey Dent approved of Rachel's actions, once she said she had chosen him?"

"No, but I think he looked the other way." _I know what you're going to say Alfred, so just say it…_

Alfred was silent for a while, then said: "Would you have looked the other way, too?"

He could only answer truthfully: "I might have."

Alfred nodded. "No need to tell you things are not black and white. There are infinite shades of gray."

"Is that the ultimate lesson of all this? Of the Batman?"

"You strive to do what's right. In so doing, you do a lot that, in isolation, would be judged wrong." Bruce couldn't disagree with that. "Knowing what Rachel did, could you have accepted her?"

_Another question with no good answer. _"The part of me that's Bruce Wayne, that learned from Rachel that revenge was wrong, and killing _always_ wrong, would have to say no."

"And the part that is Batman?"

Bruce stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Would not have excused her. But would have forgiven her."

"Perhaps it's all for the best."

Bruce snorted. "No it's not, because it's all my fault. If I had saved Rachel, prevented her from being burned, none of this would have happened."

"And if you had saved Dent instead? Would he have sought revenge for Rachel's death, as she did for Dent's?"

"We'll find out, won't we?"

"I guess we shall."He fell silent, then asked: "What now for Batman?"

Bruce shook his head. "I guess, lay low for a while. The ball's in Dent's court."

Alfred sighed. "You Americans and your sports analogies."

Bruce couldn't help but smile. "Sorry. If he's still needed, to go after the Joker, he'll rise again."

"And what happens if he's not needed? Or if the mission is complete?"

Bruce wiped his eyes. "Then I try to figure out how to live life without Rachel."

Alfred said nothing after that. Finally they arrived at Wayne Manor. As they walked towards the massive home, Alfred said: "One last thing."

"Go ahead."

"No matter what she did, I also grieve for Rachel's loss, and for the loss of the happiness you two shared, however briefly."

Bruce tried to smile. "Thanks Alfred."

"There's more, Bruce. If I may: please don't allow yourself to be lost in grief for Rachel. When the time is right, you must move on."

Feeling his pain, Bruce said: "I don't know if I'll ever move on."

"You can, and you will. In life Rachel herself would have told you to do so."

_And in death, Rachel's actions and death is a warning of what may happen if I don't._ Bruce reached over and hugged Alfred tightly. "I've never thanked you enough for everything you've done for me, Alfred," Bruce said tightly.

"You'll never have to, Bruce."

* * *

In a private isolation ward, Harvey Dent lay in his bed, recovering. Seething.

…_The Joker maimed Rachel; the Batman killed Rachel; I will kill the Joker; I will kill the Batman… The Joker maimed Rachel; the Batman killed Rachel; I will kill the Joker; I will kill the Batman…_

Over and over in his mind he obsessed over that night, cursing beyond what words could convey that he could not recall all the details. _Neural damage caused by bone fragments displaced upwards from the gunshot, entering your cerebellum. Possibly permanent, prognosis of recovery—unknown. _Those words infuriated him almost as much as Rachel's death.

The more he thought about it, the more unfair it seemed. _Everyone got out of this mess scot-free, except Rachel and myself!_ He remembered his fury when he first came to—for his burns, for what happened to Rachel, and for the Batman failing to save her or get the Joker. Lost in a drug-induced haze, he began preparations to use mercenaries to hunt down the Joker and his associates; he even suggested that they approach Rachel for help. _And what do I get for my troubles? Rachel's dead, and the Joker is alive. Will Gordon get in trouble? No. What about Garcia? Hands spot-clean. Same with all his backers, like Bruce Wayne._

"Bruce Wayne," he said over and over. _Rachel said nothing happened between them. She said she was going to marry me—before she died. _Try as he could, he could not remember anything else. _There's something else, something…_ When he asked, the people around him said that they did not have any evidence Rachel was seeing Wayne while he was incommunicado. _But absence of evidence is not evidence of absence._

What he did have was the plain facts: the Joker had maimed Rachel, and the Batman had killed her. _I trusted the Batman could get the job done, but he couldn't keep Rachel from being horribly burned and maimed, suffering to the end. _And the memories of her final moments were clear in his mind. _Batman kept telling me not to give in to terrorists; he told me not to worry, he would take care of things. So I dropped my gun just like he said. Then he fired at the gunman. His bullet killed Rachel along with the gunman, and instead of hitting him, the gunman's bullet hit me._

And as a result, the Batman was free—although under a warrant for the murder of Rachel Dawes and dozens of others—and he was in a hospital, with only a partial memory.

"No!" With a fury he hurled the glass at his bedside at the wall, shattering it. Then he wept at the futility of it all. "Oh Rachel," he cried. "Rachel, Rachel!"

…_The Joker maimed Rachel; the Batman killed Rachel; I will kill the Joker; I will kill the Batman… The Joker maimed Rachel; the Batman killed Rachel; I will kill the Joker; I will kill the Batman…_

* * *

Later when he was fully recovered, Garcia and Gordon called, telling him they wanted him to do a press conference as soon as possible, to reassure the public that the Joker and Batman would be apprehended. He told them to wait a while, there was something else he had to take care of first.

_I'll take care of the Joker and Batman,_ Dent told himself. _We screwed up before, but this time, we'll do it right. I'll get all the old money in this city to back me up, select the right men in blue to carry it out, and we'll sweep the streets clean. From the biggest mobster to the lowest stickup man or street punk, they'll all get in line or go down for good. Justice is coming to _my_ city.  
_

_Starting first with the Joker and the Batman.  
_

Suddenly he broke down and wept uncontrollably. The image of Rachel's half-burned face was etched into his memory; every waking moment Dent saw her. _And I feel her pain! They told me even with the maximum amount of painkillers tolerable, she would have been in excruciating, agonizing pain, from the moment she woke up to the moment she died._

The memories of his happy times with Rachel—their first meeting and dates, the cases they won in court, the nights of passion where she submitted to his every whim—were all he had left of her, and they constituted a psychological torture all their own. _The only time I'm not tormented by her loss is when I try to forget her—but when I do, it's an all-new torture!_

He had to do something to stop the pain, something that would burn in him her memory forever. This would be a reminder of what he had lost, of what had been done to what he had lost, and what he would do to avenge it all. _And there's no going back._ But then he faltered. _Is this truly the right course of action?_

"Only one way to find out." Dent took out his lucky coin. "Heads we go through with this, tails we move on and forget the whole thing." He flipped it in the air, caught it and covered it with his hand. _Fifty-fifty. _He pulled his hand away: heads. _It's settled._

In his apartment, far from watching eyes, Dent had assembled before him the tools he needed to imprint his lesson: a blowtorch, fire extinguisher, a mirror, surgical tweezers, and antiseptics. Calmly he stripped off his clothing until he stood topless. Looking into the mirror, he clinically noted his perfect physique, marred only by rapidly-healing scars on his back.

_These next few won't disappear so quickly._

Harvey Dent felt calmer than he ever did. Taking a deep breath, he sat in front of the mirror with his blowtorch. Without any hesitation he turned it on; the hot blue flame burst forth, hovering a few inches from the nozzle. He brought it towards him.

Instantly his nose filled with the acrid stink of burning flesh. Dent had wondered if this would hurt, but just as the doctors told him it didn't—all the surface nerves on the left side of his face had been severed, and he felt nothing, nothing but a slight tingle. Pausing, he looked into the mirror; the results were encouraging, so he continued.

More and more of his flesh sizzled and burned. He ran circles over his cheek, and up and down his jawline. When the fire burned through and he could feel the heat on his tongue he stopped, knowing he had gone far enough. He looked in the mirror again; he was getting closer.

A few more passes and the face was complete. _Wait—not yet!_ Chiding himself for almost forgetting, he got closer to the mirror and closed his left eyelid for the last time. Holding the fire close, the darkness that he saw out of his left eye shimmered, and became red, then blue. Removing the flame, he examined his handiwork critically. _Just a little more._ Again the flames licked, and the charred remains fell away. _Perfect._

Dent turned off the torch. He sprayed his face with antiseptic, then examined his handiwork. Just as Rachel was, the left side of his face had been burned to a crisp. His left eyelid was gone, leaving a stark-white eyeball staring forever outwards. Most of his cheek was burned away, leaving a few tendons exposed to cover his jaw.

Like his dead love, he had been marked, but while her burns were a sign of weakness and shame, failure and loss, his would be a sign of determination and pride; a sign of what was, what is, and what would be to come.

_The last thing the Joker and Batman will see is a reflection of their fate, only unlike Rachel and me, they will burn all the way._

"They called me Two-Face in MCU while I was in IA," Dent said darkly. "They have no idea." Two-Face began putting on his suit. It was time to get down to business, and God help anyone who got in his way.

* * *

**The End**


	13. Afterthoughts and Commentary

**Author's Notes and Commentary  
****(Warning: Spoilers for all three Nolan Bat-films)**

* * *

In writing the author's notes and chapter commentary for _Two Faces,_ I want to first make an observation that I'm sure many of you have noticed: all of my fanfics are answers to questions. Just looking at my Batman fanfics:

_- Rebirth_ = What if Ra's had a Lazarus Pit? What would he say and do?  
- _Rachel Dawes_ = how would Bruce react to Rachel's death?  
- _Green Dawn_ = what would Poison Ivy be like in the Nolan Bat universe?  
- _Two Faces_ = what if Batman chose to save Dent (and Rachel got burned)?

I guess when I write fanfics, not only do I do so to extend stories I enjoy, but also as a way to answer hypothetical questions the story raises.

_Two Faces_ is my first genuine AU story: it does not fit into the Nolan continuity, but is a pure what-if story about how _The Dark Knight_ story would have evolved had Batman chose to save Dent, and thereby actually saving Rachel. Of course, I also added another twist: what if Rachel was the one who got half-burned, and turned into a Two-Face character? First I should note that in a way, Rachel Dawes _is_ Harvey Dent; without her, Dent would have probably been in _Batman Begins_ as the idealistic attorney trying to fight crime. Conceivably it would have added to the devastating turn when he becomes Two-Face in _Dark Knight_, but of course he couldn't be Bruce's love interest—at least not a conventional one, lol! And as I will say later (including my final Batman fanfic), before TDK came out, Two-Face's turn to evil and Batman's struggle to defeat him was my prediction for what the third and final movie of the trilogy was going to be. Of course, they decided to go in an entirely different direction in _The Dark Knight Rises._

In a nutshell, what happens in _Two Faces_ incorporates much of what I had predicted would be in the third movie: instead of Two-Face killing a bunch of people and then being killed by Batman, in my imagination either the Joker escapes in TDK or in the third movie, and Two-Face secretly takes over the city government and creates a virtual police state, tearing Gotham apart searching for the Joker. Batman is caught in the middle, trying to capture the Joker while trying to stop Two-Face as he uses crooked cops and mercenaries to exterminate the mob while seeking the Joker. In the end, the Joker kills Two-Face, and Batman captures the Joker, and that was the end.

Rather than making Dent a mob boss (which is implausible because he's not a crooked DA and would have no allies within the mob), I think it would have been far scarier if he presided over a shadowy death-squad operation, torturing criminals secretly and killing them without any legal protection. That's much scarier, and if you think of TDK as a metaphor on the war against terror, showing Two-Face as a deranged counter-terrorist, willing to abandon law and human rights to capture the bad guy, would have made for a terrifying and compelling villain distinct from the Joker. Alas, Nolan went in a completely different direction with TDKR. Not that I didn't enjoy it immensely, but the ironic thing is that TDKR could have been a fourth movie after my idea!

Still, I couldn't resist the idea of turning Rachel into Two-Face. Rachel is such a strong moral presence in the Batman trilogy, that in a way her fall would be a lot more scary and sad than Dent's, who after all was only introduced in the second film (had he been in the first, it probably would have been a much more devastating turn). And as I'm sure you noticed, there's a lot of fun and sexy things that can be done with a bad Rachel Dawes!

But to treat the hypothetical more seriously, what if Batman had saved Rachel, but Dent had died in TDK, without Rachel being burned? I just want to outline my thinking on this: first, I don't think Bruce would have let Rachel out of his protection. Surprisingly, the rest of the movie could have unfolded exactly as it does before, although the scenes with Joker and Dent would obviously be missing. Ironically, instead of the devastating cliffhanger we got in TDK, it would have been a happy ending: Joker captured, Bruce with Rachel! (unless the Joker somehow managed to kill Rachel otherwise).

Or even more juicy, if Dent had been half-burned **and** Rachel survived, you would have an explosive situation for a hypothetical third movie after TDK: Dent becoming Two-Face (not because Rachel died, but just out of sheer vengeance for the Joker); the Joker probably either on trial or escaping to create more chaos; a love-triangle between Bruce, Rachel and Dent, with both Rachel and Bruce desperately trying to bring Harvey back, then failing and Rachel abandoning Dent and Batman trying to bring him down; and perhaps the grand conclusion of all, with the Joker somehow capturing Rachel, Dent and Batman facing off against him, all three fighting each other, Rachel and/or Dent dying, and Batman on the run! **And the best part is, we could have had this as the third movie, and have **_**The Dark Knight Rises**_** as a **_**fourth**_** Batman movie! LOL!**

But you know the saying, "If wishes were fishes…" For _Two Faces,_ I imagined events unfolding in the following way: first, the deviations from what happened in the first movie are relatively small, but significant. Second, as the fanfic goes past the end of TDK, I incorporated into my scenario the original idea I had of Two-Face running rampant over the city with private death squads and mercenaries; here, because the Joker escapes, the big shots in the city decide enough is enough, and they take the gloves off trying to bring down the Joker (unknown to the end, Dent is alive and secretly running the operation). Because Batman refuses to kill, they enlist Rachel, who gets in deeper and deeper. In the meantime, because I'm an unabashed Bruce-Rachel shipper, I get the chance to incorporate a lot of… erm… romance… between the two, although it's tinged with darkness, and Rachel's turn to evil properly drives Bruce away.

In the next part, I will discuss chapter by chapter my thoughts as I put this story together. Towards the end, there were significant changes to what I had planned versus what actually was printed, so I'll discuss them as well. Finally, due to the long hiatus _The Dark Knight Rises_ came out before I finished the story, and it had an important effect on the final chapters, which I will discuss below.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

I've already discussed above how horribly ironic it was that had Batman done the right thing, and saved the person who was more important for Gotham as a whole, he would have gotten everything he wanted personally (an insight I took from an article I read on the Internet discussing TDK, sorry I don't have the URL here). The important little twist here is that when Bruce rescues Rachel, Dent is able to hear him and Rachel talk over the radio, and able to deduce who Batman actually is.

If you're curious, I always had planned to bring Dent back at the end. If TDK can use such an implausible fake-death as Gordon's (fake for motivation, not in realism), I think I'm allowed license to use it here! ;)

**Chapter 2**

When Bruce visits Rachel in the hospital, I begin to plant the seeds of Rachel's rage; when she realizes Bruce was willing to let Harvey die to save her, she gets angry, even though had he not she would be dead.

The ramifications of Bruce's actions begin to unfold as events start to differ from TDK; in the movie Bruce decides to go off to try and save Reese from being killed by vigilantes scared into doing so by the Joker's threats. He does this even while he still has not fully come to terms with Rachel's death; it's an admirable display of Bruce's spirit to fight on despite the wounds to himself. Here, he is so concerned with protecting Rachel that he does not go to Reese's aid, which has unfortunate consequences later—Reese is killed (although whether that's a bad thing might be debatable) and Gordon put out of action—an event which leads to more dramatic consequences later.

Rachel's descent into darkness is accelerated by the Joker; this scene is very closely patterned along the lines of the one in TDK, but modified to take into account how the Joker would psychologically torment Rachel rather than Harvey in this situation. I went as nasty as I could think of while still keeping it PG-13; it's pretty bad, if I do say so myself! Planting in Rachel's mind the seed that she could have killed the Joker if she had decided to do so, and thus making her feel responsible for all those killed in the ferry, is another crucial factor in driving her to become Two-Face.

**Chapter 3**

Unfortunately I cut out the part with Fox and Bruce about the cell phone spying quandary. Don't worry, more moral dilemmas for Bruce are to come!

Unlike the movie, because Bruce is preoccupied with saving Rachel, he does not go in the front way and immediately find out that the hostages and guards are switched. Instead, he sneaks around back, trying to get up to where the Joker and Rachel are, and decides to trust the SWAT teams with cleaning up the guards in the front while trying to take out the Joker in the chaos. Unfortunately, this allows the Joker's plans to work to perfection: the hostages are killed along with the guards, and the Joker is able to escape in the chaos.

As a result of the Joker throwing out both the detonators and Rachel from the top of the building, Bruce is unable to stop the destruction of the ferry. When Rachel realizes that again Bruce has allowed others to die to save her, something snaps inside of her—she's also conscious of her guilt in allowing the Joker to escape.

**Chapter 4**

Now the story takes place after the events of TDK. I wanted to include more Gordon in the story, but he didn't really fit. Part of it was he had to be kept in the dark while the mercenaries are being hired and run by Rachel; originally I was going to have more detective work between Batman and Gordon to uncover the mystery, but that fell by the wayside early on.

Mayor Garcia (or Mayor Eyeshadow as I like to think of him ;)) is sort of a bland dude in the movies. He seems to be an actual force for good. Well, this is Gotham City, and everyone but Batman, Alfred and Gordon are supposed to be corrupt! ;) Here, I make him a much more sinister character. With the Joker running around loose, it's not hard to see a shady guy like my Mayor Garcia decide to try and use some muscle to solve problems the police and Batman can't handle.

More setup for Rachel's turn to the dark side. All the pain and drugs are messing with her mind. She also realizes that while she's 'lost everything', Bruce will do just fine. It makes her feel powerless, which is another potent inducement to rage.

**Chapter 5**

Now we begin to see Rachel make her move. Ironically it's similar at first to Garcia's plan; try to get Batman to do the dirty deed first. Her initial attempts at seduction are pretty clumsy… but she gets much better later! ;)

**Chapter 6**

This scene is setup for what would have been a more concerted joint-effort between Batman and Gordon to uncover who's behind the killings that start erupting in Gotham. Sorry I put Gordon on the sidelines.

Here the Mayor is acting with Dent in the shadows. While he's recovering in secret, Dent has begun reaching out to make contacts in the mercenary world to hire people to do his wetwork. Little does he know that one of his contacts, Joe Smith, is also working for the Joker!

All the degradations and humiliations Rachel has suffered have finally eroded her moral and ethical sensibilities. Her need for revenge against the Joker for killing Harvey, and as a first step before getting revenge against Bruce, have convinced her to take the gloves off.

**Chapter 7**

These guys are based on Executive Outcomes – a real-life South African mercenary group, no longer in business anymore, I think, but if you Google them and read about them they'll scare the Bejesus out of you. Or think Blackwater / Xe. These guys have absolutely no political or ideological agenda, they're in it 100% for the money. Pay them and your target will pay; don't pay them, and _you_ will pay!

**Chapter 8**

Now that Rachel's all-in, she begins ferreting out information to use for targets. Meanwhile Batman is also on the hunt for the Joker, starting with mobsters who he thinks are in contact with him.

Just as Dent got his revenge on the dirty cops, Rachel gets hers—and unlike Harvey, no lucky coin saves Ramirez.

**…And finally, what we've all been waiting for! **This part probably ran on much longer than it should have, but I honestly couldn't cut it without disrupting the flow. The problem with Bruce and Rachel hooking up, as it turns out, is that I ended up cutting out some of the scenes where Rachel gets information about what Bruce is finding out as Batman.

**Chapter 9**

Needless to say, Rachel and Bruce have different ideas about Afterwards. There is a distinct contrast between Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent; despite his fearsome persona as the Dark Knight, Bruce on the inside is a good person on the inside and able to transcend tragedy and pain. In contrast, beneath his shining legal perfection, Dent is an angry and capricious individual, and completely fails when his morality is tested. It doesn't seem an exaggeration to extend that contrast to how they would treat the women in their lives.

Another part of the story trimmed down was Bruce, as Bruce Wayne, tracking down the mercenaries from the billionaire Playboy perspective. Originally it was other rich people who came to Bruce trying to get him involved; later I decided it worked better to get the Mayor involved directly, even though it's a bit convenient.

That was about as nasty a finish as I could imagine for Wuertz. My model for Rachel was always Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, so I was very delighted to remember that the opening words of the novel could fit so well here!

Again, just a part of the Batman-Gordon subplot, sorry.

When Bruce decides to give money to Garcia, he does something which is rather controversial; he gets directly involved in crime, even if to stop it. This raises the interesting question of when, if ever, does Bruce/Batman partner with either the corrupt elite, or with other criminals, to bring down a greater threat. I don't know if there are any examples from the comics, if so I'd love to know. I would imagine no, because it's not in keeping with who Batman is, but then again Batman by definition is breaking the law, so apropos of _Green Hornet,_ is it okay for him to break the law in order to protect it?

I wonder how Bruce would have reacted had he read the note in TDK; we find out his reaction in TDKR, but the circumstances are much different, although I suspect that his realization that Rachel had moved on was a factor that led him into the arms of Miranda Tate. In retrospect, there was no time in the very dense TDK to fit it in, or really anything about Bruce's reaction to Rachel's death. I've already done one fanfic about that subject in _Rachel Dawes,_ and in light of TDKR, I am planning to do another one. A question left unanswered by TDK and TDKR, is why Bruce fell so hard for Rachel between _Batman Begins_ and TDK. More about this question later.

In Round 2, Rachel is much freer and aggressive, while Bruce is more cautious and questioning. But he's only human…

**Chapter 10**

Afterwards, Bruce is very suspicious by now; in a sense, I probably made it too obvious when Rachel so eagerly tells him she wants to kill the Joker. More of the Mata Hari aspect of Rachel's actions was cut out to streamline the story—originally she would have gotten Fazio's locations from Bruce during pillowtalk.

Batman and Fazio's escape is part of the cooperation between criminals and Batman that was part of this story. This was trimmed down as well, but I always liked the idea of Batman cooperating in some way with certain criminals to take down more dangerous ones. I know it's probably atypical and against character, but I cut it down for other reasons.

Two-Face has traditionally worn split-clothing; his good side being a nice neat suit, his bad side a more flamboyant outcome. Even in TDK, the clothing on his bad side was burnt. From the beginning of making _Two Faces_, I knew I would have Rachel half-dressed in proper business attire, and then the other half would be her basically stripped down to lingerie. I would have used it in the finale, but that was unrealistic, so it was enough to have her flaunt it here as she finally explains to Bruce what a bad girl she is!

**Chapter 11**

Originally the climax of the story was going to be Batman storming the mercenary headquarters with dozens of mob goons. Alternatively, the mercenaries were going to raid the fortress of the mobsters. During the fight, most of the mercenaries and all of the goons would have been killed, while Batman, Rachel, Dent, and Janos had the final confrontation. Because I cut the story down I couldn't do that ending anymore, so instead I eliminated most of the mercenaries in the ambush on the cargo ship (there were 25-30 mercenaries in the beginning, and that number had to go down to 5-6 by the end).

Black Plains is a play on White Plains, which is in Westchester north of New York City.

Part of the final plan is still included in the Bruce/Garcia scenes: Batman threatens the Mayor to reveal the hideout of the mercenaries, then Bruce tricks the Mayor into thinking Batman threatened him (ha!), so he decides to sell the mercs out rather than face Batman's wrath.

Originally the scene where Maroni was captured was to be included, but here it's referred to in passing.

Although Batman knows where the hideout is, here he decides to wait on his attack on it until Rachel decides to go. In retrospect, this probably wasn't a logical choice; by attacking when Rachel was there he increased the risk of her death. This is a plothole, I apologize!

The reference to Batman's knees hurting when he landed atop the building is a shoutout to the doctor office scene in _The Dark Knight Returns._

As discussed before the final scene was originally going to be either the mobster's HQ, which would have been a huge mansion. I moved the merc's HQ to an underground setting, because the building in Chapter 5 was too small.

Rachel gets her final revenge as she kills Maroni. Ever since the Mayor decided to sell out the mercs, Dent has been watching Bruce, waiting for him to make the final move. He follows behind Batman and kills all the mercs Batman has knocked out.

**Chapter 12**

Like any good villain, Dent can't resist the temptation to monologue! But here it's more complicated; he is of two minds as to whether or not to kill Bruce, as well as Rachel. Originally Janos got back on his feet and intervened immediately, but I decided to spice it up by having Rachel and Dent reconcile, and decide to join together in a life of making Gotham into a police state, but I (to my shame) have Bruce turn Rachel and Dent against each other through the note. That provokes Dent enough for him to foolishly attack Bruce, leaving Rachel unguarded so that Janos can take her hostage.

The shootout and Rachel's final death scene was done almost exactly as it was in my mind from the beginning. At the very end, Rachel realizes all that she did was wrong and asks Bruce for forgiveness. She also acknowledges that Bruce Wayne/Batman is the superior moral force; had Rachel survived TDK, she probably would have conceded that Bruce was right, referring back to Batman Begins (and which I have her do from beyond the grave in _Rachel Dawes)_.

**Epilogue**

All the events in the Epilogue were also in my mind from the beginning: Batman taking the fall for Rachel's actions; the Joker having duped both the mobsters and Dent into killing each other; and Dent voluntarily mutilating himself to resemble Rachel, become Two-Face, and carry out Rachel's plans to hunt down the Joker. Just before using the blowtorch, Dent hints at how he treated Rachel in bed (roughly), and the latent ugliness is in full display. Somewhat like in _Green Dawn,_ I relied on a convenient head injury to erase Dent's knowledge of who Batman is!

Incidentally, Dent being cured (physically and psychologically) of Two-Face, then breaking down and self-scarring himself, has happened in the comics; I took my cue from _Two of a Kind_, which is a very grim Two Face story.

* * *

Okay, that's all for _Two Faces._ Like I said, I unfortunately had to make a lot of cuts and simplifications to finish the story after having put it down for so long, but most of what I wanted to do is still there, and I hope you enjoyed it!

Like I said, in honor of _The Dark Knight Rises,_ I am going to do one more Nolan Batman fanfic. It will take place between TDK and TDKR, and it will be my attempt to answer some questions I still have from the movies:

- Why did Batman hang up his cape?  
- Why was Bruce so fixated on Rachel?  
- What was Bruce's energy plan, and what went wrong?  
- How did Batman get the Clean Sweep?  
- And most important, what is the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Batman?

I hope to get started on it as soon as I finish my _Lily Potter_ fanfic. Till then, I along with you eagerly countdown the days till TDKR is out on disc. Take care and keep reading!

Scruffy-Looking  
Saturday, November 10, 2012


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